History needs my hand

Sumeera Dawood

I used to be six.
I used to stare up at the sky,
Totally amazed at the complexity of life.
I used to get a hiding with a silly-fore
And I used to cry in the separate toilet outside.

I used to have a pair of ugly bright-red Elephates
So red they spurred on a firey sense of justice in me.
I used to think that I was lonely, and alone in the world,
And I used to bemoan my fate.

I used to see the world in black and white frames.
But one day this simple world disappeared.
Shades of grey introduced themselves.
And I stopped talking to trees.

I used to cry with a boy called Ayaz.
I didn’t know who he was,
until he revealed himself to be just another man,
An ordinary man, malleable and without any strength.

I used to be loved by a father hose love could not be contained,
Who saw me as a beautiful, beautiful woman.

I used to see myself as a girl,
Because that’s the way I acted.

I used to be six.
I used to live on Cravenby Street.
And the next day I did not.
I flipped the page.

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