none. She left that day. Onward. Shuffling, pushing against a great roar of need. The silence shouts from the eyes.
A handshake, hug, awkward exchange of necessary gifts – well wishes or debts and grievances. Kept. for Exile.
broken sticks to shattered red. a crumpled body to match a crinkled date. no. no. no.
that inch on the paper, the screen, is not. Unreal, the space of blood and tears.
She stopped that day and looked around.
a hand. a smile. Irreplaceable. None.
I did the very same art for my own analysis, but rather than responding like you did I gave my interpretation of the piece, so it was very interesting to read your poetry on it. You made excellent use of negative pronouns, corresponding to what the refugees are feeling, and the same goes for the broken up sentences, short, blunt, and choppy. If I was the judge, yours would get my award. =’]