The Nudge of the Refugee



Taught to remain dead from the womb,

she walks among tombs, whitewashed

crypts concealing skeletal remains

of 1,000 generations, closets clammy


and fungal. She bites the apple

of her ancestors which, ever since

Newton wed Granny Smith, dictates

a hard fall. The System says, ‘Stay! Be


at home with Depravity, shake hands

with Despair! Dry bones can but rattle,

dead men can but dance.’ But she feels the

nudge of the Refugee, the rebellion of


soiled skin; when she opens her eyes

to Truth, she finds her mantle is but a

rented chrysalis. When they take the final

tally, her casket will be an empty husk,


with hinges rusted like dry blood, an

apple seed rooted through its temple.

Laughing at Gravity, she will rise

on the wings of the dawn, emancipated.



12 comments on “The Nudge of the Refugee

  1. Alastair says:

    Excellent. I love this 😉

    I do apologise for not visiting as often as I would want to. My time is very limited now.

  2. perennial strength and purpose ~so are we! Wonderful analogy as usual !

  3. I am SO ready, Mel. Well done poem. God bless you BIG.

  4. Debbie says:

    Your poetry just keeps getting better and better, Melody. I love your line breaks and the depth of this. Thank you!!

  5. RoSy says:

    You have such a creative & poetic mind in the thoughts that come with your photos!

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