Oxford Spires Academy, Oxford, 2015
As I clutched my suitcase …
thick hot sweat
built in the slits
of my palms, which
shook holding its cool
metal brace. We walked
into day-winds, thick
as dried out paint
on unwashed canvas.
The sky was painted
daffodil yellow. The ground
was a dirty grey.
There was a metal bird:
an array of fearful,
forgotten
paint.
**
Missing the feeling of home
I smell the iron rust
of the Municipal Gardens.
The sour tang of home still
sits on the tip of my tongue
like the zest of sweet citrus
fizzing.
**
I did not know
of grey, gravel roads,
or the bright buzzing,
of scarlet cars.
I did not know
of lonely red-bricked houses,
gazing strangers,
standing next to next,
military officers, in endless rows.
I did not know,
of silence in the streets,
or the secret whispers on the buses,
or the sly gestures of restaurants.
**
I know now
In this place,
where I did not know,
the things I did not know
embrace me in ways
I didn’t know.
