Lorraine Carey
Splinters
January snow clouds hang like threats,
the air sharp as nettle stings.
I’m new to the village school where
a morning bell clangs the cue to line up
for circle time. Packed tight as ice floe
penguins, we recite times tables
in sing song, until Miss demands the palm
of the girl who gets them wrong: belts so hard,
the wooden ruler snaps leaving a plum-dark
weal. Breaktime’s spent circling
the icy yard, a respite from the musty
prefab where Miss stashes rulers in a desk
drawer with cigarettes. She smells
of mothballs and Panstik—which
does nothing to disguise her yellowing skin.
With a swish of plaits, a girl from
the class below pulls me aside and barks,
go back to England where you belong.
I lose my West Midlands accent, segue
to speak like the rest of them; adopt their
bucolic ways, their suspicion of anyone
different, their tribal mores.
It takes years to undo the conditioning
of a small place called home.
Back to Issue XIII…
Lorraine Carey writes poetry, haiku, and non-fiction. Her poems are widely anthologized and feature in Magma, Spelt, Poetry Ireland Review, The Cormorant, One, The Stony Thursday Book, Allium, and Panoply, among others. Her craft often explores and reflects on ecocentrism: landscape, belonging, and species decline. Her debut collection From Doll House Windows was published in 2017 by Revival Press. An Agility Award recipient in 2023, she was one of twenty writers selected for The Freedom To Write Project 2024. Born in England, she later grew up in County Donegal and now lives on the southwest Kerry coast.