Once upon a time
You wake up one
morning, just like any other
morning, and everything
sounds the same. The
pigeons are chanting in the
plane trees, you hear the smack
smack of your neighbour’s fist on
his punchbag, and your bones
are absorbing the hum
of the ring-road. But when
you look in the mirror
someone’s imposed another
room on yours. Your cheek
bones are blurred and your
books don’t speak to you any
more. When you brush
your hair it hurts like
an illness and when you
step outside, the sky
forces you to your
knees and you realize this
is England and it’s not
your country, really.
Sarah Quigley