I wrote this poem on September 8, 2015, six days after Aylan Kurdi died during his family’s flight across the Aegean Sea, and photos of his body opened the world’s eyes, sparking ‘this suffering must stop’ statements:
What of mournings
i
Do you think he was afraid?
Or maybe
the wake crashed over
him
like a lullaby.
ii
Waves glide to greet
shore, always
returning – everything
in this life,
a circle.
But what
of mornings
when sea rushes in, tilting
around the weight
of a toddler?
What of mornings
when fishermen,
out for their sunrise
catch, spot
a red shirt at the end
of the reel?
What of mornings
when police officers,
showing up for scheduled
shifts, must scoop soggy
children
from sand?
What of mornings
when Aylan glides
along the newsreel —
did his body rupture
the circle of the tide, or
was it us
to rupture
his body,
following too close
the circle of the tide?
iv
Waves glide to greet
shore, always
returning – everything
in this life,
a circle.
Or maybe
the wake crashed over
him
like a lullaby.
v
Do you think he was afraid?
On January 24, 2016, Lighthouse Refugee Relief, the organization with which I volunteered on Lesvos in December 2015, shared this video after an island resident, a Lighthouse nurse, found the body of a little girl while walking along the beach. Lighthouse wrote: “Bodies of baby girls should not wash up on beaches. But this morning it happened again on Lesvos…Locals on Lesvos shouldn’t have to worry while walking their dogs. Fishermen shouldn’t have to worry while taking up their nets. Families fleeing from war should not have to lose their babies on the Aegean Sea. Bodies of baby girls should not wash up on beaches.”
</divDo you think she was afraid?
Or maybe
the wake crashed over
her
like a lullaby.
Waves glide to greet
shore, always
returning – everything
in this life,
a circle.
callie daniels-howell 