The wind felt colder,
and the dirt didn’t know my name.
I left behind the streets where my shadow once belonged
When the skies split open,
I fled
through barbed wire and empty hands,
until someone offered a blanket,
a card that said I was here,
and a place to sleep beneath foreign stars.
Now I stand in lines,
waiting for a hand to offer me the next step,
my heart pulling between the past and the present,
wondering when to grieve, when to move forward.