The Channel

by Kisa

The Channel

 

 

I can’t swim

 

But still we swim away

 

Through choppy waters, colder than I’ve known

 

Far away from the ivory and oil, 

 

From the machetes and men of blood.

 

 

I was born dusty as the floor beneath my mother’s bed

 

Many men had her there.

 

And I hated them.

 

But she taught me to look beyond our walls,

 

Beyond the cutting hours, and to reach through the dark

 

Into the light, to other lands

 

 

So my grip is tight

 

And my sight is set on fat green fields,

 

On warm people and cities of gold and glass 

 

I swim forwards, arm over tired arm

 

To dream to arrive,

 

But the water is cold.

 

 

 

- by Kisa Omar

Kisa

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