Poetry – The Cul De Sac in London

In the spaces, there are images and recordings

playing thoughts and sounds

feeling spaces in my room

In the hallways

red sweaters

fill the crowded places

and I reach out alone

the drawers open to a light half lit

an Asian man

with his love-filled heart

and racist lines

And just to be safe

I hide beneath my sorrow

I want to go to places in the dark

I want to see stars and the glimmering arch

cobblestone walkways and 19th-century moldings

alone I walk

painting life with my hands

What do you make of the cul de sac in London?

With his big brown eyes?

Like my brown eyes