Luciana Francis
Exiles
The past is a foreign country.
- L. P. Hartley, The Go-Between
A magpie hops on a vacant parking slot
By the cemetery where birds perch amongst prayers.
My chest tight like the sky, riddled with clouds -
My father was born far away from where he’s buried.
At the post office, letters to Malta -
Woman wears bright yellow parka over her sari.
Our child fluent in one single language -
I do not wish for him to inherit my exile.
They got it wrong again, the weather forecast.
The sun bright in spite of its foreign accent.
This was never about going back where I came from,
This is a deep pang calling out for Pangea.
Without allies we are islands -
I need your warm hands to ward off the morning frost.
- L. P. Hartley, The Go-Between
A magpie hops on a vacant parking slot
By the cemetery where birds perch amongst prayers.
My chest tight like the sky, riddled with clouds -
My father was born far away from where he’s buried.
At the post office, letters to Malta -
Woman wears bright yellow parka over her sari.
Our child fluent in one single language -
I do not wish for him to inherit my exile.
They got it wrong again, the weather forecast.
The sun bright in spite of its foreign accent.
This was never about going back where I came from,
This is a deep pang calling out for Pangea.
Without allies we are islands -
I need your warm hands to ward off the morning frost.
Biography
Luciana Francis (she/her) was born in the city of São Paulo, Brazil and has lived in the UK since 1998. She is an Anthropology & Media graduate from Goldsmiths University. Her writing explores themes such as identity, sense of place, estrangement and motherhood. Her poetry has appeared in issues of Poetry Quarterly and Popshot Magazine, amongst others. Over the years she has been a regular contributor to the online ekphrastic project “Visual Verse.”
