I know no one is interested
but sometimes, when I feel rescued
the hot sand on the foreign beach
invites to imagine myself
being a fish, choking out of the sea.
I wonder if I were better off drowned
like the rest of my family.
Forty-five thousand made it to Italy
six thousand drowned, because
they tried to live.
One thought on “Survivor by Marjon van Bruggen”
So sad and beautiful
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