Barricades
I’m a stick insect trapped behind glass.
Around me the fluent chatter of girls marinated
by nannies nurseries and limousines.
I’m back in Oxford, winter of ‘45.
I’m mother’s medal, proof that she’s left her two up
two down and scullery out the back.
Ouside the college a barricade of shining snow
and here in my room a huddle of girls by a half-starved
fire eating mother’s home-baked cakes.
They listen with care, they are easy and kind.
We share coal, we fraternise till it’s dark.
A gathering’s planned at the Randolph, a taxi to town;
their eyes wander, translating me into space.
I seem to have swallowed my voice,
and it aches inside.
Page(s) 12
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