Crossing
I line up with other bedraggled bodies,
some look as though they might be dying,
others carry the weight of grief. I watched
a child slip away while we waited yesterday,
saw the life leave its lungs, the mother clung
to its body, tears wet the child’s face. It’s not
pretty, its worse than they tell you. I don’t
know whether we will make it or whether
we might be taken back. I don’t speak
the language, few of us do. It matters.
The look on the guard’s faces is difficult
to read, tells me they’ve seen so much
of this. None of us know what to do or
what’s next. Clothes dry on a makeshift
line between tents, next to plastic bags
of what we have left after the police take
anything else. Some of us camp under
bridges, avoiding the boulders that stop
us settling on softer ground. We wait for
the next boat, for a better life. The
mother is still holding the child. We
wait. Some of us won’t make it.
I Have Already Gone
You keep me in a box
With all your trinkets,
But I haven’t shrunk
Enough to fit completely.
I hold an arm out of the
Window, and look up
Through the skylight.
Sometimes you throw
In small crumbs, to keep
Me happy, keep me alive
And yet it is you who are
Caged with all your fears
And paranoias. Holding
Them all in keeps you
Upright, makes you
Look distinguished,
Together, even. Sometimes
At night you come and sit,
Look through the glass
To see if I have shrunk.
You take me out and
Observe closely, furrow
your brows. But you don’t
yet know I have already gone.
Moths
Light flickers through a chink in the window. Moths dance outside in the low evening light, try to find their way inside, the way children scramble to reach the popcorn. You think about how people try to find ways out of things and ways in, and about the constantly changing landscape of life. Some scramble for the light, leaving at dawn, while others remain. You wonder who controls the opening and closing of windows, the turning of the leaves, the inner turmoil that drives some to make the decisions that they do. You try to fix them but some things are not fixable, not your responsibility. Three moths have found their way in through the chink and are dancing around the table lamp. You wonder how many more will arrive and how many will stay. Remaining through troubled times, staying in the building, that’s the hard part. Some leave when it gets too hot, others leave because they are uncomfortable in their own skin. You wait for the moths to leave near dawn, after they have settled in the warmth, then close the window and watch the sun rise, feel its warmth against flesh. And you know that if you travel lightly, allowing the sand to sift through your fingertips the right ones will remain in the first morning light.
Where Have All the Birds Gone?
Now the birds are scarce in number
skies blackened like factory smoke
children say we can’t walk alone not
since, you know, the day Jimmy
went missing. Aunt Mabel said
something to Tina about there
being no birds when something
bad happens in a place, that
the atmosphere keeps them away,
that they know like lions keep away
from fire, no amount of fire can
keep away harm on our young
ones, only vigilance and don’t
walk alone, don’t stay out after
dark, don’t talk to strangers but
the dangers almost always come
from somewhere close, someone
already inside the fire and you hear
whispers along pavements and
inside houses about what will
happen next and whether we’ll
ever see Jimmy again. Where
have all the birds gone?
* * *