I was carried from the boat carefully.
Inside the ambulance, gentle hands tended.
I thought them angels come to save me.
The hospital was a shiny white cavern,
filled with knowing hands, soft voices.
My scars are healing well.
Medication has been lessened.
Nightmares of torture rooms
are loosening their claws’ grab on me.
My mind is slowly healing.
I allow sleep to stroke my forehead now,
swallow down the knuckle of fear lodged in my throat.
My husband found a job, eventually.
Minimum wage they call it.
He will do anything, work all hours.
Soon I was well enough to join him.
We live in a place that is not home but a gift.
A shared house, with friends who ran two years ago.
Braved sea, a fear-filled journey, soul-torn loss
of those who fill their hearts.
They knew what we had suffered.
When I was well I worked part time.
Got our boy into school.
We all learn English at night from our neighbour.
a kindly man who wishes us well.
We wrap our tongues round unfamiliar syllables.
Work hard for citizenship. Struggle.
Hate the cold, damp, differences of culture
but we stick with it.
Ignore comments about our skin, our faith.
These are but beads in a handful of coins.
Worthless amongst the wealth of kindness
we have been gifted.
Now we have home, friends, neighbours.
Some are migrants too. Some are not
but they see how we work,
keep our children clean and in school.
We have settled.
Each night we pray, hold hands.
Thank God, for a new life, family,
Miki has written three poetry collections, had work included in over 170 poetry magazines and anthologies and won a few poetry competitions. She has read on both Radio and TV and judged poetry competitions.She is active on the spoken word scene in Cheltenham and is a member of a number of poetry groups. She began performing her poems in a bikers club in Birmingham. Miki is disabled and lives near Tewkesbury. Gloucestershire.UK.