Status Updates From Forty-Five: Poems

«(…) I'd sit
At my draughtsman's easel, staring from the window,
Longing for some happening
To set me free. (…).»

«(…)
I found my home in books,
Where dreams were realised and looks
Were overlooked.»

(…)
Time again I'd build a home
Of books or blankets, wanting stone
Or wood or bricks, a place to be
Where I could stay,
But no sooner was each wall
Familiar, we'd pack the car and haul
Ourselves away.

“We’re friends” they said, and me
So small beside them, a too-late thumb
In the dam’s chasm, through which
Everything around me leaked”

"When I returned to school again, Persia/
Still hung inside me like a lantern, /
Swinging as I walked, my new eyes /
Polished bright from inside, /
School and children transitory /
In the shadow of such /
Ancient, bloodied, golden history."

-- from "Twelfth Year, 1971"

19/45

12/45