after we scratched filigree
onto trees behind
my mother’s house
our wet fingernails
needed a break
i played at being the white lady
from countryfile
i trailed stolen periwinkles
along my sandpaper tongue
trying to taste the sea
you sang diriyam
to english pigeons
near iceland and never asked me
why
i fade like cilaan
when the sun keels over
or why
i breathe like i’m breathing
through a keyhole holding a key
or why
my ayeeyo prays to elahi
i’ll end up like girls in marka cadey
who crush cardamom with their teeth to taste honey
or freedom
or why
habaryar rubs her blackness away with lemons
or why
all the women in my family
are afraid of bufis and make fun
of my broken somali
hooyo ma taalo? ma joogto?
i tell you i hate questions
enough to ask them like water
especially on chilly days when
politicians rub flakes from
their elbows
and my neighbours
hang the St George’s flag
to remind my dad
this is england
when he forgets
and why
is the tip of my hooyo’s nose red
like the cadaan ladies who
bother her at the council?
and why
does my brother
tell me feelings are for people
who can afford
to scream murder at police?
and why
does the ethnic boy tarry
under my window and ask to see
the length
of my hair
to make sure
i’m pretty?
Reblogged this on reubenwoolley.
LikeLike
Brilliant. A real eye opener to another culture. A writer to watch.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Loved the poem. Thank you
LikeLiked by 1 person
Pingback: saffron lane by Yasmin Musse | Celfypridd