(excerpt from a migrant’s journal / month one)
The stark noise
of a walk through a swampy meadow
on high heels
this is what a bite of my country sounds like
washed down with wine, with soda,
inside the wall in my guts.
This foreign flesh
grows-grows an invisible desert.
Children play with it – stone it – stab it with arrows.
It bleeds, sobs on my shoulder.
Together, we reach solidity.
‘Come to mummy’ I say arranging her cap,
‘have a lollipop’.
Another week gone, another month passes.
My back with a new bruise, my womb craves
toast with marmalade from Daisy.
The wall keeps walking with me. Surrendered.
Illustration Nick Victor