Before I wrote crime fiction, my first published work was poetry. I still read poetry regularly and this year I was determined to write some more and submit it for publication. I was delighted this week to see that a poem I wrote a few weeks ago, has been published on the Writers For Calais website. You can read the poem on the site, along with many other moving responses to the refugee crisis, or you can read it here.

My boy is eighteen today

He didn’t die in the shallow waters of a Turkish beach.
He wasn’t carried high on his father’s shoulders
at the storming of the Macedonian border.
He won’t sleep tonight in the subway beneath
Keleti station, nor will he run between cars
on the Calais motorway, or climb on the roof of a train.

Your boy will not see another birthday,
his suffering is over, his joy is over, his smile
is over. The bear he holds in the photo is over.
It keeps happening, over and over, on my screen
and in the water, on the road, the rail track,
while my boy wakes, and turns eighteen today.

What can I say?