Refugee

“Past this ocean, there is hope,” he says.

The sand burns his feet as he runs toward the waves. His uncle died three days ago, on the same journey, and he misses his wisdom fiercely.

Cold water on his ankles, then up past his knees. He dives into the breaker, lets the swell pull him out to sea.

He swims for the little boat. On board: two dozen. And his woman. And his child. Uncle said it was foolish to take them. But he cannot leave them behind.

“Past this ocean, there is hope,” he says as he climbs aboard.

There are twenty pairs of unbelieving eyes.

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