She was eating halloumi the last time I saw her.
I remember because I used to think halloumi
was a type of fish, and so did she. She claimed
the block of spongy cheese hit her tongue like tuna –
her mind had already decided the taste the thing should be.

We talked pleasantries at first, obligatory small things,
the forecasted rain, mostly, and the new Starbucks on St. Mary’s.
Then I breached it, asked how she felt about going home.

India is not my home, she said, trapping bits of marinated cheese
in the downturned purse of her lips. It was where I was born.
How would you feel about being shoved back into the womb?

Not great, I suspect.

Christina Thatcher holds an MA in Creative Writing from Cardiff University. Her work has recently been published in The London Magazine, Neon and Inkspill Magazine, and is forthcoming in The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts. She is currently working on her first collection of short stories and attempting to order her latest poems into a respectable chapbook. Follow Christina on Twitter: @writetoempower.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s