Peter Lilly: Poems

When another's border is opaque, windows blocked with the coagulated death of hopeful escapees, reinforcing our borders  is a reinforcement of that death. When political concern  prioritises  the comfort of British holiday-makers over the survival and humanity of an other, we commit atrocities. But we want, need our distractions, excuses to turn our heads so Cameron, please don't mention refugees.  When he speaks of  'illegal migrants' to refer to people who  face death at home  and are cleaved from their soil, face death on their own borders  and burrow beneath detection, face death on the M editerranean  praying to stay buoyant through squalls  and over sharks, face imprisonment in Europe and attempt to assimilate as they climb north, face death in the dysentery of the glass-ceiling-camp of Calais and wait and wait not allowed to move forward or turn back, he knows he speaks of refugees and he lies. ...

Home is changing context, and that takes some time. It has to happen around you first, then seep in through your pours and unite your spine with your skin with your surroundings. Like with new language, listening, bumbling, confused, improving, trying and smoothing into rugged fluency. Home is changing context and that takes some time. Three weeks ago, my wife and I moved to Montpellier, in the South of France. It's a wonderful city but of course it takes time to adjust to new surroundings, new language, new culture. Last week I took some time to reflect, to feel that adjustment happening around me, to me and in me, and I wrote this.