Sheena Blackhall Poems
I can't imagine dying in this land.
The neighbours here have doors graffiti-red
‘Why are you brown? ' another pupil asked
‘I think because my folks are brown, ' I said
Out on our landing, someone's dumped a bed
I dream in Hindi. I don't understand
The baby words in English in my school book
At games, or dancing, no one takes my hand
I miss the smells of curry, frangipani,
The steaming chai at Delhi's teeming stalls
The cooking fires. I even miss the sewers
The thieving monkeys with their chattering calls
I miss the temple incense, the bright ...
Winnie On A Swing
Winnie on a Swing
Her feet touch the chimney
Where a crow is roosting
Her pigtail on the backswing
Brushes the grass,
Flicks away an aphid
Tick tock, an hour of play till sleep
She laughs softly.
The swing slices the air.