poetry

As wide as a canoe

A lake in my palms –

now I am grateful in all that I am

for the water;

it will be gone

when I’ve drunk it.

Last night we cut through the lake

in the palms of the mountains,

waited on the stillness for nothing

in particular.

You sang like a mad man

joy rolling from your body

like the boulders you pushed

down the mountainside today:

sparks ran

joy smashing on joy,

I was heavy with happiness

- my smile as wide as the canoe -

to be among the mountains

with these people, these languages,

your brother, our God and you.

Pumpkin soup

Pumpkin soup tastes good,

thick and wholesome and satisfying.

When you eat it, you feel like you're doing your body good,

pumping vitamins and spicy things around.

I think of you when I eat my pumpkin soup

and wonder what it's like to be so far from your family.

Mine are far away too, but I can come and go when I choose.

So I don't know what to say or ask,

but I am glad that we can at least share the goodness

of this pumpkin soup. You nod,

the pumpkin soup tastes good.

Es ist schön zu sehen

how you have grown, Dominik.

Your Mummy’s doing well at making room for you!
Jesus tells me that in his Father’s house there is a room for you too –

Wow, so many rooms and we’ve not even met you!

That just goes to show that we are so excited to know you,

to grow with you as you grow and discover what God has planned for you.

As I’ve seen you and your Mummy growing

I’ve been thinking of the Potter’s hand – how God shapes us

if we want him to.

Perhaps your Mum has been sitting on the Potter’s wheel for nine months

and with each turn, her belly grows

smoother and wider.

Normally when my pottery friend spins,

a nothingness forms where she sinks her thumbs into the skin of the clay,

it melts away where she applies pressure, like dimples forming under laughter,

but with your Mama, when God spins, you are formed

like his hands sing you into being

- Gently -

Nine

months

knowing

and

growing

and

anticipation.

Recently I finished creating a painting.

I sat down and looked.

And it was good

to look

but I was shocked

at the bond between me and the painting.

I hadn’t created that.

That just came with the knowing and growing and

anticipation.

How much stronger must your bond be, Dominik,

with Mum and Dad and the Master of Pottery?

I would like to hold the knowledge of you

between my hands

like a lump of clay -

and pray that you would know and grow

with what God has planned for you.

We wait

in joyful anticipation

at the thought of you.

For Violetta, Micah and Dominik

05.02.19.

Oxford and Aleppo

When people ask me where I am from

you can feel their reaction.

If they’re British, it’s the wave of their eyes

turning to see how high my nose goes

and if they’re from abroad, it’s the expanding eyes

and the rumble of the flat-pack Oxford set being built

up in their head:

out pops Harry Potter and the Oxford Dictionary

wingardium leviosa

it lands in their hands at ‘e’ for educated,

at ‘u’ for university, at ‘p’ for proper:

proper rich, proper old, proper proper

and it starts to rain on the spires

again.

When people ask me where you’re from,

the city, I mean,

you can feel their reaction –

the momentary silence

*awkward pause* #whatdoIsay

#ohmygoodnessyesrealpeoplecomefromthere

And then they say, “Aleppo… wow”

and you hear the reporter in the background reporting

…here on this evening’s broadcast we are just going to take a short break

to bring you some breaking news:

A young woman from Oxford is dating a young man from Aleppo. The exact details are yet unknown…”

And you see the still drop set behind the microphone

which shows

a city in ruins

and a black haired boy stares

into the camera

with Big Brown Eyes.

Then they ask about your story

and they’ll ask about the war

and if you’ve seen people die

or if you’ll be able to stay in Germany.

When we meet

I ask you how yesterday was

and you ask me about tomorrow

and we live today together.

We ask each other other questions too,

but we are not stereotypes or news,

I am me and you are you.

Rebecka’s Cactus

You were a present to me from a friend

You were so small and I never thought

You’d grow.

Not sure why, I mean, you are a plant

It’s just I had never before observed how a cactus

Moves like you

You are a like a measure of time

When I look at your size I can’t deny the three years

Since she put you on my desk

Otherwise years seem to be only words and photographs

But you are tangible

I could hold you in my hands (in your tin of course)

And feel the weight of three whole years

You haven’t spoken in that time

Just tilted

And asked for nothing.

I don’t know what you like or

What you’re aiming for

You just keep on keeping on.

I appreciate your silent friendship,

Your loyalty

And the truth you represent.

28.01.20

When I’m by the sea

An invisible man is next to me

He holds my hand

As we stand by the sea.

We’re like in a painting,

With voices narrating

Our days, our hearts, our we.

His fingers are in my fingers

Like the waves are in my toes

And his invisible nature

Just seems to know.

When I’m by the sea

An invisible man is next to me

He holds my hand

And understands

The fearful beauty of eternity.

Words Sword(s) Do(o)rs

Claire has been writing ever since she can remember. She was commended in the Stephen Spender Poetry Translation Competition (2009, 2010) as well as in the Foyle Young Poets of the Year Competition in 2008.

Claire speaks English, German and French and is currently enjoying exploring Arabic and Kurdish. Writing is like a game for Claire and the more words she has, the more fun there is! Over these pages you will find some of her experiments from the last few years.

peel and portion a tangerine

claire.ewbank

Poetry