The same sun

The sun warms my hands and cheeks

and it saturates the

grass with a greener hue,

it saturates me

with a deep vague memory

of home. Four months

I’ve been here,

expanding and embracing

more and more and more

into my collection that

now extends across the world.

Friends will replace friends and a

place will replace

another, a new front door and new set

of keys with the same

old keyring. But

my body won’t surrender to

the chill rather than

the glow. I sit here on cold

grass wearing the green

silk skirt I found at

the market. The day

was almost too hot to be

outside but we donned

large floppy hats and braved

the sun and peered at stalls, I drank

fresh orange juice with my

little brother on my knees, he

was tired. (I don’t dare to

imagine how big he must be

now) We walked

on burning sand under

a fiery sunset and

it can’t be the same sun

now breaking through the wintry British

clouds, the one who

burned my skin and heated the

car bonnet like a stovetop.

Now freckles and long dresses are

cold red nose, pale skin and dark

heavy coats. Now car rides with

windows down sunglasses hair billowing

are perching on a chilly metal

seat, fantasising about the insides

of a bus. But now

is new, and I am a rock who will

not gather moss, I relish in

freshness and I laugh with new

friends and I dream about new people

while I remember the old

ones. My cup is

overflowing.

Let it flow.

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