By Greg Pritchard. This poem is part of our December 2012 and January 2013 focus on Asylum Seekers.
From where I am lying I can see my sister’s leg
Like a long stemmed rose against marble
My ears are ringing and all I hear is music
The sun is warm and bathes us in orange light
Like snow, or spring blossom, dust falls
Covering everything with layer of fine white
I know I am dying, I feel the cold run into my gut
I don’t need to look to know I am damaged
One cannot expect to survive a blast like that
I can see my sister’s leg
But her body is nowhere to be seen.
Greg Pritchard has a PhD in literature and a Masters in Visual Art. He is a writer, visual and conceptual artist, performer and is co-producer of Thieves Theatre. He is currently the Regional Arts Development Officer for the Western Riverina but will leave this position shortly to travel to Senegal for an arts residency.