MD Kerr

Day 11

An origins poem

Handwritten poem

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“From here.”
Bland eyes refusing the beer-infused question
which is not a question, the things stranger men ask never are,
but a chisel they’re trying to insert
to crack me open for conversation, to make it rude
to refuse.

I refuse
and tell the middle distance, “From here.”
There’s not a country in the world where I’m believed
but no-one can place my vowels
(even I can’t place my vowels, and as for how
I might say the word “world” next time, who knows?)

I know
what follows an answer; it’s not just
more beery breath, but the gritted grinning through the usual mocking
of how they assume I once spoke and the same seven assumptions.
Smooth as a sphere, I won’t open my worlds
or trace the fragile thread through long-dead wars
back through generations to the simple fact: I’m
from here.

Thanks to for the prompt to write an origins poem.


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