Young People’s Laureate
For London

LOROS

by Cecilia Knapp

I watched my mother form
her new body. Cheekbones becoming violent,
hips clucking to meet skin.
I would wash her as she used to wash me,
holding a small plastic jug under
the warm water and tipping it over her back,
her edges broken by bubbles.

That night was like any other night
in the hospice. People quietly dying,
except we ate ham and pineapple pizza
in her bed.  Watch out for the men,
they have the upper hand, she said smelling salty,
shoulders poured against a medical pillow.
Then the next day, when the doctor said

she needed to eat more, she laughed,
told him she had waited her whole life to be
this thin. I laughed with her.
When I try to replay her voice
I can’t. This small slice is what I have.
A woman who is happy with her own shrinking
in the last few weeks of life.

You Know a Market Where the Tulips are Still Three Quid

by Cecilia Knapp

and you buy them to remind yourself that you can.
They begin tight-lipped and upright,
but their petals become loose, droop.
Their stems will start to lean away from their own.
You know the cat will cry at two AM,
some nights you will sleep right through,
others your body will fling you upright as though
your brother is dying. You know what the wine does to your teeth.
You know about leaving.
You know you keep useless things
in case you need to build a shrine.
You know how to make gods of men
whose toothbrushes sit caked on the counter.
You know this, and you let them weigh your avocado,
rolling it around in their palm.

Honey Locust, Baby

 by Cecilia Knapp 

1.

the grey belly of the plane

the plump belly of the pigeon

the stench of sweet garden

wet paint and smooth wood

sprays of white flowers glowing

silk fists bursting from grey brick

the circle of our plastic chairs

the circles of our eyes

as yet uncertain of each other

the sun trips over itself

music slumps from

a high up open window

we write in biro leaning

on the soft of denimed knees

we don’t feel the cold

2.

a new tree planted

near the gaping empty plot

where the old one stood

when the rot sets in; a felling

making way for the new

this is how it goes

honey locust baby you are

thin as a newborn horse

thin as these young dreams

underneath the soil

the roots multiply in the warm dark

like corridors to many rooms

3.

early evening and a warm fuzz

summer has arrived at least for now

the trunk has thickened

taken fully by the yielding earth

the leaves a streak of fledgling green

on springy branches

we stand by the new tree

cradled by the buildings

buses glide past full of light

we know each other now

a thread drawn through each of us

having slowly revealed our lives

fish leaping briefly from water

we’re all still beginning

birds on a skinny wire

carry on honey baby

let the years advance

watch us rise and fly

off into our lives driving low

over cluttered dips and peaks

all there is to come for us

as you go on with your business

of growing future shade

like a curtain slowly unhooked

an audience to this road;

outlive us

In our garden

by Cecilia Knapp

the soil holds and gives,

the flowers are various,

sprayed across the high grass.

Wads of crocuses push through dirt.

Here we are, warm. The air is pink

and tender. There are no tall fences,

large hands, dark suits. Instead,

we plunge wrist deep

into the earth, heated

by the weather and we plant,

women touching shoulders.

Water shoots from rock.

We cup our hands and drink.

We eat until we glow like eggs.

We know what we deserve.

It happens as it should.

Easy sleep, exhausted

from the day. Here, no dark

corners, only the shade

from the heft of clever trees.

Here, our pain is old and shared,

a wooden bowl passed between us.

Somewhere, birds spit song

from their throats and the sea

is near but mild. The sun

comes out over and over

like a reel of film. Shame vanishes

like water dried on a stone.

Here, families stay together.

Here, there are fathers, boys.

And the tea is hot and ready.

At the poetry workshop before under-fifteen’s football training 

by Cecilia Knapp 

Dusk drops low over caged city pitches.

You’re a sea of nylon shirts in blue, 

in red and yellow. Tell me how it feels

when you’re out there. When the coach

fetches the key for the padlock to unleash

a wave of young feet onto AstroTurf.

What does it do to the guts to kick

a ball so hard it makes the fence posts

sing long after, vibrating around Vauxhall

and pinging off the buildings, forgetting

everything else but that sound. Look; I know

you’re itching to get out there. To slip 

on a thin bib that catches in the wind.

I know how many hours you’ve given to this.

How in the winter the cold makes your hands

numb and the light gives out before school’s

even done. But before you go, tell me

how it feels out there. When it’s just you,

running hard. I want to know. You rustle

in your coats like leaves. Then each one

of you writes; it feels like freedom.

Golden Shovel after The Pixies Where is my Mind?

by Cecilia Knapp 

In this room the light falls with

a softness, grain like. Somehow all your

wants are released from under the feet

of a rainy August afternoon. And look; a table on

which a bowl of fruit is poised like a painting, the

peaches soft and exposed as bodies embracing air.

The room is thick and full with the smell of them and

of course before you tell yourself no you reach out your

hand and you take what you want because your head

has emptied of those sharp words you keep with yourself. On

and on, reaching for more, you take what you deserve; the

fruit. Piece after piece, you eat, you’re full and the ground

appears to soften like the world is blunted, smudged where 

the prospect of another day with yourself was terrible, but is

actually now a red plant in a terracotta pot on white stone steps; my

secrets, my secrets are beautiful, my mind.

To say no, and to not feel guilty.

Embrace my culture.

To love, and to be loved.

To go to school and to be happy.

Work, study, equal to men.

To get the same pay.

To be safe and to be free

from violence, from discrimination, 

have my freedom to say what I want.

To go anywhere I like.

To feel good, do what I want.

To ride a bike. To drive.

The right to be accepted

for my choices in life. To be myself.

To appreciate myself.

To follow myself. To follow

my dreams. To understand

that we are all the same

no matter where we came from.

The right to come back home,

feeling love.

All the flowers in my garden.

My diary, when I need to talk.

The sun when the sky is grey, 

A glass of water.

The rose that stands bold after its been hurt.

Golden hair. The light

coming on in a dark room.

A mother’s love. 

The morning’s singing bird. 

Golden.

When my heart stops beating, you’re 

my heart beat. 

My lifeline when I am

on the edge.

You’re the hoping of dawn

that my eyes drink,

the heart of a book. 

The music that lifts, the smile that shines

in me. The smile that makes the trees sing.

You’re my legs when I can’t walk.

The silence, and the voice.

You’re my verses. The hope I testify to.

The gift.

Every important thing

in the world.

I am here because you have been

at my side.

Spring trumpets.

Flying smiles, sunshine.

Freedom, dancing, soft skin, love.

Life is beautiful.

The acid green refreshing smell.

Retro yellows, browns and gold. 

Green eyes, green trees.

The sea, mountains, leaves.

Basil, spinach

fresh cucumber. 

Green apples and peppers.

The music.

The green birds.

The grass, your T-shirt.

My dress. 

A stormy morning.

The cover of my favourite book.

Our Whatsapps.

Ripe lemons, turmeric.

Flowers and daffodils, crocus and blossom.

a bunch of bananas. 

Comets and clouds, stars inspired.

Washing up gloves and sunglasses.

Your cheeks are like bright pink pens. 

The green plants are all human life,

my heart opens like a book.

Night falls like an orange ball, 

you see your childhood over and over again.

I can do anything. Paint.

Travel. I’m ready.

Walk for longer, 

stay out in the light,

Ice cream and friends,

birds singing, birth

good air.

I have been enjoying the crowd on the streets today.

Excitement is a light blue stomach.

I have been enjoying my art.

Happiness is mint green teeth.

I have been enjoying sleeping throughout the night.

I remember whole mornings full of sadness,

a huge tightness in my chest.

Anxiety is a scary brain.

Sadness, a black heart,

confusion is a silver head.

Grey clouds surround me. The confused day is full.

I left my family and I always miss them every single day.

Outside my window I can see the beautiful birds,

a tree and a house and so many cars.

I see people running.

A middle-aged man walking with his hands in the pockets.

I wish my older brother was here.

I want to see my family again.

I want to see my mother again.

And of all the green flowers bringing happiness to my eyes.

I will never stop believing in freedom.

I will never stop believing my laughter.

I remember the confidence I had in my body

in that transparent sea.

Relaxation, a blue mind.

I remember the beach

laying on the soft shiny sand. The sun was kissing

my skin and sea singing its wavey melody to my ears.

My favourite place is Asmera.

The beach, the countryside.

My favourite place is Massawa.

I know how to cook Anjera.

I know how to ride a bike.

I know how to eat,

I know how to make zigni.

I will never stop believing in myself.

I will never stop believing in change.

I will never stop believing that everything will be good.

If I could change the world, there would never be hungry children.

If I could change the world, there would never be no wars.

All family would live together forever,

no war and more peace.

I am a human,

I am atoms,

I am happiness

I see the street and someone’s house

I see trains rolling by and the pigeons

I see the endless jungle and heavy clouds

I see two squirrels playing 

I see music and bed

I see birds and monkeys

I hear the silence 

I hear voices in the other room

the cat purring on the bed

I hear cars

the TV

I hear my mum

the waves of the sea 

I feel the ice on my head

I feel cold and happy

I feel the hot air blowing on my skin

and the snow

I feel the warm sun

and wet rain 

I feel the sun shining down on my face 

I feel the heat and wind

I smell chicken and rice

the wet grass and the bare trees

coffee and oranges

the sand blended with sea water 

it’s a windy place

it’s raining

it’s snowing

the weather is hot

there’s a light sea breeze

I’m running along the beach with my dog 

I’m sitting on that bench with you

children are running trying to catch the chickens 

I’m dancing on a starry night on the beach 

I’m talking with my mum

drinking tea with her

I’m having a good time in a good place with my best friend

I’m stretching my arms to feel free

the rain is a blanket

the wind holds me

the sun is a wheel

the beach is a heaven 

his smile is a bullet

your eyes are an ocean

sometimes I want to walk in the rain

sometimes I want to go Germany

sometimes I want to dive very deep in the sea

sometimes I just want to feel a hot breeze on my face

sometimes i want to fly like bird to feel free

sometimes I want to walk

how nice is to walk in the Spring and breathe in the air

how babies make me beam

how you make the best cups of tea

how when I call my father I feel happy

how he buys me flowers 

I’ve been thinking about when I chat with my friends

and they make me smile

when they call by

and we drink too much coffee and we talk

when they remember my birthday  

how the bus driver slows down to help me

when someone asks me how I am

when I see my sister’s children on video chat

how safe it felt when you said ‘welcome back’