Migrant Bites. Day One.

 
to Elsie de Baron

We make noise and walk through the swampy meadow
on high heels
fearful of mosquito bites and paper judgments
with us the country sounds like a soda requiem
foreign English soil growing-growing an invisible desert
which means, finally, acceptance.

The children can stone-it-stab-it with arrows.

It bleeds, it 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.
A bruise on my back, map for water landscapes.

The wall keeps following me. Surrendered.

 

Maria Stadnicka
Collage Rupert Loydell


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