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Cab
as if you, a
tousled haired driver, could be so resolute,
as if you came
from your country twenty years ago
aged thirteen,
helped by your desperate parents,
as if your sister
was killed and your brother jailed
for his thoughts,
as if there is a country where the young
have three
choices: kill, be killed or leave.
I ask the name of
a respected poet from your country,
you laugh 'It's
me! I write to belong,
if only to
myself'.
I share with you
that I write poetry too,
you grab your
mobile and hunt
for one of your
poems in English.
as if you
wouldn't write an impassioned poem
about desolate mothers, as if you wouldn't
join PEN to
spread your words,
as if you would
say to your enemies
'you kill our
language, you kill our young
and yet we do not
hate you',
I tip this winner
and walk through
the doors of
Madingley Hall,
as if I am
entitled.
Liz Callingham