The Detention Centre
Christmas Island

With closed eyes
he looked at me
silently gazing

brazed lips
whispers and sounds
firmly locked in

heavy feet
sitting lightly
on an empty seat.

I crossed the blue
waves crashed, pulled me down —
I saw death a thousand
times and time again, death
looked me in the eye.
In the depth of these blue
hues, I lay to sleep searching
for a light, a drop of colour,
a hope of white

Evicted from the green
chased away
Strangled, chained —
now I am drowning
in blue. Only a prayer
guards my pocket, a lullaby
in a locket given by a mother
a daughter, a son

Frigatebirds fly high
over this island. Golden
and Silver Bosuns speak
my language. I am encircled
by life yet mine
has escaped. I wait
and wait for a bird who might
bring me back.

His eyes looked away
lips soldered back
I wanted to utter a word
but words stood still

I joined in
silently gazing,
flew up high and higher
and turned into a bird.

© Zeina Issa
Previously published in Contrapasso, Special Issue: Long Distance

Zeina Issa is a poet, translator and writer for El-Tetelgraph Arabic newspaper. Her poems, translations of poetry and essays have appeared in Australian Poetry Journal, Mascara Literary Review, The Red Room Company and Contrapasso. She is currently working on a poetry collection of new and selected poems by Iraqi poet, Khalid Kaki.

Golden Bosun. Photograph © Max Orchard