On that small kitchen counter at 4am,
I’m looking at packets and equipment.
It’s dark outside still, the dawn
a promising stripe across the distance.
Already neighbours are stirring:
patchwork window glows, first car
in the street, a cough, a door latch
only just audibly lifted …
When does transit end? Beneath
folded boarding card print-outs,
an unpacked rucksack leans
into the shadow of a table.
An idea of home is coming together.
In this flat where I will be for now,
there’s coffee on the sideboard,
first trace here of shaping a life.Image: Marina Shiderova; text: Tom Phillips
