I can see a white ironing board, a kettle and cold water.
I hear the door bell, smashing plates and relaxing music.
Maybe I taste an apple juice, milk and a sour taste of depression.
I can smell a lemon, lavender and death.
I feel stressed, hopeful and detained.
The public doesn’t know about immigration detention
Being in lockdown is like days in detention
Now we know it we can’t ignore it any more
This panic is produced by the virus, death rates and immigration officers.
This virus doesn’t discriminate against migrant or black or white skin.
This virus is a sad story and it deals with us equally.
This poem is part of the ‘JRS Imagines’ anthology, for Refugee Week. You can read more from the collection here.
Find out more about what’s happening at JRS UK during Refugee Week