Jennifer Kwon Dobbs
A Small Guest
Alan Kurdî (2013-2015)
Seaweed followed the law
It released you to waves bussing
your small body
down, down dark currents
silver minnow tunnel. Your red
shirt swallowed
the Aegean, billowed
and swelled, but your shoes stayed on
By them the sea
knew your refuge dream
restored you to shore so your father
Abdullah could find
you, a guest of the sea
Without guests all houses would be a grave
the poet wrote
making a worm from mist
a bird from sand. What prayer
transforms this empty
castle guards watch
ignorant of the gift to shelter each other?
Who will help
close, open, close
your velcro laces for the journey
your father dares
for your sake? You a gift
loved with milk cake and honey. You
practice the names
to keep you safe—
not Mohammed, Jesus. Not Muslim
Christian. Hush—
don’t bother now
as tourists gather and multiply your image
on their tiny screens
You are not their orphan
of beach foam, Alan flag bearer, watching
from the lap of God