Would they come back to life a hundred times, for you to do the same again…
No God warned you to cover your tracks,
pull that car and its booty out of the cold canal.
Our smiles were too wide, necklines too low, father,
to secure us a rung at a safe distance from your honour.
You never did the math and forgot others would;
all that remains when the sun comes are the numbers.
Ten of us set out but only six returned, six beds booked.
One car and one wife missing, and three girls gone.
Two wives, one barren.
Fifteen hours to deliberate; four counts of first degree.
One son defiant, complicit. Twenty-five years of lock-up.
One warning, unheeded.
You never understood this new land, but here it is,
too late; you shall feel its full winter weight roll over you.
You met unfavourable winds, concubine in tow,
blown off course, yours then as ever the greater disgrace.
Not one of you will make it, now, to Niagara Falls,
to Heaven or Home, or to Troy. No betrayal more than this.
—
Published in Amsterdam Quarterly, autumn 2024 (41st issue), Migration theme