Okhti, my sister
I don’t know what to say.
You’ve so many scars
All close to your heart,
More will come along the way.

Okhti, my sister,
When your hand grasps mine,
Your smile lights up,
Our fingers combine,
I lose all my words.

Okhti, my sister,
You don’t understand
That when you set foot
On your promised land,

It might not be all that you’ve hoped.

Okhti. My sister.
You’ve been so very hurt
When your father and brother
Lay crushed in the dirt
Bloodied and beaten and tortured.

Your brother and father and mother and sister
Stand right there beside you,
Smiling, pretending since everything’s new,
All is well, all is hope, all is true.

But, you’ve heard your mother.
You know what she hides,
The wound on her leg,
The pain deep inside.

“I smile, but I’m broken,”
She tells me, wide-eyed.
“They should go to the camp,
If they want to die.

“It would kill anyone, piece by piece.

“There’s smoke, and there’s noise
And not near enough space.
Overflowing with people, boys
Fight in the smoke, there’s no place
To think, they steal clothes;
There’s three to a blanket,
We about died from cold.
How can we escape?”

She turns to me.
I don’t know.

And you, Okhti, my sister,
What part of your mind
Remains safe, remains joyful,
Feels your hand in mine?
And what have you locked away?

I would not want to stay
And face that every day.

But you live, and you breathe,
You crossed perilous seas
Bullets zipped by your ears
But you conquered the fear,
At least for a time.

You clasp your hand in mine
And name me yours:
Okhti, my sister, my friend.