LEAVINGS
I Left behind
Some left. Just being scared
wasn’t enough. Cash helped
and social status
might give a useful contact.
Luck mattered most.
As for the left behind,
we struggled. The unlucky always do.
Some were unwise. You call them martyrs.
Most kept their heads down, had to endure
blockade and damaged harvest.
And those in charge –
you know how rulers are.
At times they made us act
in ways we didn’t like
or choose
and when the bad time ended
and the new invaders came
as conquerors who asked
“Why?” and “How could you?
Can you say you didn’t know?”
we, left behind, were far too cowed
to ask, “And you –
what horrors have you seen?”
and “In our place
are you quite sure
you’d have said no
and died as meekly as we once obeyed?”
II The lucky
The rich, the well-connected and the lucky
were met by instant love and a cold welcome.
After some weeks, their hosts began to murmur
“Why can’t you learn –
faster than that – our ways and words?”
Domestic skills once left to servants
defeated them.
Lawyers, professors, doctors, engineers
failed to obey
the young and newly-trained.
Their ears picked up
the tone of insult.
They had no insulation from contempt
so, if they needed
to burnish their self-worth by finding
some others to despise,
who could condemn them?
Mostly they chose the poor,
inhabitants of a much safer country
than a lost homeland, and observed
How rough their manners were,
their language ill-pronounced,
their days lacked grace –
and oh the laziness, the drunkenness, the dirt.
III The despised
When you see, daily,
the bag clutched close,
the coat-tails pulled away,
the wrinkled nose, the sigh,
the shudder – and are told to
“Make them welcome”, or
“Be more like them – work hard”,
what should you say?
You overheard:
“I had nine servants once.
I never learned to cook or wash my clothes”
and wonder what their servants thought
or how their riches came about.
You’ve welcomed neighbours in the past
with cups of tea or beer and chat
but these despise you – and you know the flat
(next-door but one) that they condemn
as “stuffy, grimy, cramped”
is big and comfy-warm.
They never say hello.
Their visitors arrive with gifts and pity –
plenty for them and nothing left for you.
Your child cries in the night.
You wake and hold it close,
sing and play music.
Later on, their child
pushes a door ajar
and brightens with a smile
which you return
because contempt, like hatred, should be earned.
Kathleen Bell
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