To never go back / to never have left

The door I walked through
has shut behind me.
Through the letterbox I peer
watching the bolt slide firm,

one long imperial finger
points and says
son of Albion,
you are but a new wave
a seed
you cannot dissociate
yourself from me.

I lie awake at night
for having traded one
rainy isle for another
I know I can’t go back
but never quite left.

The drawing of lines around
lands and peoples
makes me want to rip open borders
and kick down doors
but I am no marine. I can’t fight
this withdrawal into selves.

You speak funny
you’re not from here are you

and, I don’t know if I am anymore.

By Rhys Feeney

Rhys Feeney is a British-born poet living, working and studying in Wellington, New Zealand. Between studying English Literature and Film at Victoria University, working part time at a cinema and worrying a lot, he tries to write poems to confront his anxiety and sense of dislocation. Rhys’ poetry has previously been included in Blackmail Press 41 and he writes regularly for the music blog, Daydream Nation.