1. In Zoar

The sun was risen upon the earth when Lot entered into Zoar. … 
But his wife looked back from behind him, and she became a pillar of salt.
	—Genesis

If you have ever been a refugee,

even if decades have gone by,

even if now
you are grateful 
for your good fortune,
for your settled life 
under the sunny skies in Zoar,

you do not let yourself
go soft.

You do not lose the skill 
of packing swiftly, with precision.

You do not trust the luxury
of holding onto anything 
that’s not essential 
to getting out,
making it through the passage,
entering a new land. 

You do not forget the story of Lot’s wife —
you heed its warning.

	Do not look back.
	Do not allow your gaze to stray 
	to what you had to leave behind.
	
You chance upon a Google Earth view
of a courtyard shaded by two old trees. 

	There were twin maples.
	In autumn
	one would drop crimson leaves,
	the other — saffron.

You glimpse through windowpanes 
a family celebration.
An impish, tousled child stands on the lap of an indulgent aunt
to pick a pastry from a platter.

	Creamy filling blooms in the mouth
	between the crunching layers of cinnamon crumbs.

You do not say a word.

Your face impassive,
you stare straight ahead,
rigid as a pillar of salt. 

2.  Turns of fate

If you have never been a refugee

do not say:

	I would not have been able to…

even if you mean it 
to express admiration.

A refugee is not made 
of sterner stuff
than your own 
soft, vulnerable core.

A refugee is you yourself,
two turns of fate away
from where you are
now.
                        

One was destroyed.

Another — left alive
and whole enough
to heal, even to thrive.

What, for lack of a better word,
gets called “survivor guilt”
is silence
incorrectly heard.

It is a feeling built
without a solid foundation
of cause and effect.

	You acted wrongly;
	wrongly failed to act;
	you won by cheating
	in some vital contest.

It is a phantom pain,
the non-existence of a contrast,
the absence of a difference
( be it of substance or of context )
that would be relevant and plain,

that would, failing to justify,
at least explain….
                        

Nothing is certain.
Nothing can be guaranteed.
Not even nothing.