The Saltmarsh as Port of Entry

The children sailed in at night.
The stars were scheming.
 
Fog spilled from the moon.
The tide was rising
 
and snared them into the saltmarsh.
The boat foundered.
 
The children stumbled in mud.
So far they’d travelled
 
from Kalashnikovs
burning houses
people burning.
 
They waded into the dark.
The marsh plants scoured them,
 
glasswort, sea wormwood,
the lapwings screeched around them.
 
The saltmarsh woke,
had them airlifted out
 
in handcuffs, blindfolds,
kept them apart in prison.
 

Ruth Valentine

published in collection, On the Saltmarsh, 2012, Smokestack,
ISBN 978-09571722-1-0