Across the Sea From Home
In a house with bare white walls
crow’s feet nestle grey eyes
and white hair fades to blue.
Lipstick stains a chipped front tooth
and rubs between lips like satin.
While the leaky faucet drip-drop-drips
the television flashes in silence.
Grey eyes can’t leave the soundless screen
and the bullets that fall like rain.
And so worry beads fly between fingers
a whir of blue blue indigo blue
in a house with bare white walls
across the sea from home.
Emma Ibrahim's friends would not think to look for her here.