Invent a war.
Something bloody and fratricidal.
Lose an uncle to barrel bombs
a brother to secret police.
Three years in, flee.
Pack only what you can carry:
clothes, smartphone, children, cash.
Slip away at night, in silence.
Take your leave of the flat, bakery, office,
rubble-filled streets where the kids once ran
shell of the cafe where old men
drank qahwa, played she...
Monday 21st December 2015 4:59 pm
the stink of diesel and of fear which
everyone’s pretending is not here
because if they do not name it, it will not be real
but in the hot bodies of the strangers pressed
around her she can feel
the tension of a panic only held at bay
like sea-sickness, with iron will, good fortune,
they rise and fall, jaws clench and clench again
Monday 20th April 2015 7:10 pm