I have three poems in the latest issue of The High Window. Here’s an excerpt from one of those poems, ‘The Tenants’, about rootlessness and our attempts to make a life for ourselves.
They offered us vine leaves and red wine
and we approved of their gesture
inside the English garden
they would never share.
We told them about the roof,
the rare slate and Croatian stone,
and warned them, gently,
of the works we had planned.
They stripped nude beneath us
and we kept our gaze level.
We disguised ourselves in the street
and accepted their news
of failing parents and work
the daily money, their ambitions
and dreams sealed inside paper,
the news of cancer scares, longing, debt.
Read more on The High Window