I am seven, committed a crime
and I am going to prison.
My sisters won’t visit
for fear of being locked up as well.
At school, they say that
mister-Williams can
read my thoughts:
Open your Bible at ‘Exodus’
chapter ten, paragraph four.
[…and Moses answered:
Oh, God, I am slow of speech…]
I jump over squares in conversation
when the real things are
the wrong way around.
Shortcuts lead to mistakes,
so loud that it is impossible
to miss them.
Press “space bar” to be born.
Press “escape” to swear in emojis.
I bear the full stop’s weight that
God’s tongue dropped on my back.
I trust to wake up for school
with a packed lunch. Breaktime.
Shhh. You get upset and your soul grows
claws that poke at your ribcage.
How do you plead? Guilty or not guilty?
I eat my past in small bites
and praise the Lord.
A thief deserves to keep hungry.
Maria Stadnicka
Picture Rupert Loydell
.