and from the inside in

HIDDEN STORIES
On the upper slopes of La Giettaz
patches of snow linger even when the sun
is high. But in the wall of boulders,
granite and schist stretching skyward,
a small but dense carpet of pale rose
wildflowers have emerged from
a crack, petals calling out
with rounded leaves that are thick
and dark green, holding their stories
while in a world struggling with the loss
of so many species, two monarch butterflies
flutter above the flowers,
Muntaha who began painting at home before
the war tells us at the age of thirteen,
“Art inspires peace, encourages
us to be kind to each other,” Fatima
who now is in school after years
of longing reminds us, “education
is the most important thing in life,
knowledge is a weapon,” and sixteen
year old Bassina remembers how
a pharmacist in Syria helped
the injured now works in a pharmacy
and studies at night.
and in the tsunami
of statistics as refugees cross
the Mediterranean in crowded and unsafe
boats, we count the numbers
who have drowned, and too many countries
clamor against open borders while only a few
manage to avoid telling the refugees
that they do not belong.
If those of us whose
life passes by so fast, disputing
the loss of species, and the response
to borders, paid attention to the young
who do not fit into their schemes,
they would understand the hearts of others,
and how the war torn bring us hope
in tender hands that kindle sunrise.
Denial and thunderous silence
fill the air, and blind us to the future
of how adolescent Syrian girls are able
to weave a path beyond the noise
of discord and through the cracks of statistics:
Marguerite G. Bouvard
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