One of many
Written By Charlie Walker
By Meryam Drouazi
She fled lands and crossed seas
And yet,
my mother will be ignored in history.
Still, she rises at dawn,
Submissive in her cleaning.
Is it her deep olive skin,
And her thick, Mediterranean English,
That limits her choices?
Or does she choose the shop floor scene,
For its similarity, rejoicing
At the shades: yellow, black, brown
Zhang Wei. Antoine. Mohammed.
I wonder –
Is she lonely?
Does she feel strange?
Unseen and unheard,
Given little thank-you’s in exchange?
Written Word ‘Hands’ poems
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