Amongst the treasures of the British Museum
Godless, made in China, and in the room
the other Godless lot put up, a drift
of eyes alive with mourning move
like contraband, and taking in
the bits and pieces hoarders robbed
or otherwise acquired, urgently
harry. For you and I the lost
treasure’s bow is gracious beauty
but we feel the unease: The light
coming in through the glass from the east;
a Coke can discarded: a sign
of modern times. I want to leave
with you. Perhaps this is my mistake:
always too impatient to wait.
Silas Gorin lives in Beijing where he’s been earning a crust since the noughties (He comes from Herefordshire but he doesn’t know when he’s coming back). He has seen his work printed, both on-line and in ink, in places like Monkey Kettle, Orbis, Triggerfish Critical Review, and Mad Swirl. Recently he completed his MA in Linguistics with the University of Birmingham, and he was very chuffed. He would like to thank you for taking the time to read his work, and he says to say bye.