what are you?

asking me to unpick shards of family history

although my skin is thick

my patience is pierced and wearing thin

let’s stop pretending it’s not a loaded question. unquenched by anything less than an explanation of elders’ migration. Why has it got to be the first point of conversation? fetishized ambiguity, repetitive invasion, silent bets on persuasion.

Lidget Green

Sky blue ford with steering wheel lock

Play football in the late nineties heat

Behind our concrete square

Our terraced houses lent on each other

My friend shared the name of my mother

She was two years older

A neighbour, far bolder than I

We played house-house in the loft of our houses that held each other

And chased each other down the back street

We all live, apart from her;

Still playing football in the late nineties heat




In memory of Beena, a childhood friend x