Friday, 8 May 2009

HRW Terminal 3

Wearing your tales,

The jewellery of your stories hang

From my ears, wrap around my wrist

Names like fizzy sweets

Get their first taste

Rolling over their shapes,

Foreign spices on my tongue.

Jeans feel unfamiliar

Hold too much in,

Forgotten fibres against skin.

You bind a blanket sewn with scents

To keep out the air of a home

 Fresh returned painted,  

New colours clash

Painfully against the lush

Of England’s drunken climbs and falls

Into a time before mangoes           

And sea wolves.