On the Syrian boy, discovering his blindness

I will not watch
the Syrian boy
open his eyes to blindness,
his sight gouged out by the thumbs of an explosion.

I will not watch
his legs flail against the sheets
his aching need to kick away
the tangled claustrophobia
of his new world,
like a broken bird
hit by a car

as he cries, Abbii Abbii –
and there, his father,
cradling him,
his son his child
to rock rock rock him

and on the screen
my face, reflected over his.

I will not watch.

– Seonaid Francis


Seònaid Francis is a Scottish poet and publisher, originally from Glasgow, but now living in Wales with her Welsh husband and Welsh children. She has previously had work published in New Writing Scotland, Valve Journal, Twisted Vine and Spilt Ink, among others. www.thunderpoint.scot