Pomegranate Town

by Carl Boon

Artwork by Alexa Gaffaney

Nobody on the shore

at Pomegranate Town, 6 a.m.

The beer cafes lie dark

against the sunrise and the sea’s

placid and without birds.

My daughter, asleep

in the back of the car, dreams

live starfish in her hands,

the evening we’ll be back again

with deflated toys in our bags,

families surrounding fires,

men drinking whiskey

in the starlight. I envy her

innocence, the bracelets

on her inadequate wrist.

It’s very early and we all should be

dreaming other days, other

ways to be happy, my father

whom she barely knew,

nine months dead now,

but he’s in her—how she dozes,

cognizant of nothing

save the buses rumbling past

to Gemlik, Istanbul, and Greece.

1 thought on “Pomegranate Town

  1. A really moving piece. It reminds me of a Peanuts comic I read a long time ago about how laying asleep in the backseat of your parents car is the most secure comfortable sensation in the world, and that once you reach a certain age you can no longer do it–that this security is something only for children. Thematically, it fits with this poem. I’m not sure if this is what this is about, but mixing that security with the hazards of fleeing a country as a refugee creates a truly profound image. I like this poem.

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