perhappened mag
issue 14: HIDE & SEEK
when the hoover
sucked up my crucifix
NADIA LINES
I laughed and laughed. Kevin and I,
gloved, masked, heard it rattle
through the tubing: ascending. Imagine
us unscrewing the head of the hoover
to look for the body of God.
Imagine us scooping out uni
dust on to the floor, detangling
our housemates’ hair and sifting
sixty years’ worth of student skin
through our fingers to find Christ.
Imagine us trapped together, just ten
days ago: strangers. Imagine Kevin
on his hands and knees, palms filled
with couscous, two-pence pieces
and absurdity, me: coughing periodically.
Imagine us hooking the Cross
from a thick layer of bottle tops,
beaming miraculously.
gloved, masked, heard it rattle
through the tubing: ascending. Imagine
us unscrewing the head of the hoover
to look for the body of God.
Imagine us scooping out uni
dust on to the floor, detangling
our housemates’ hair and sifting
sixty years’ worth of student skin
through our fingers to find Christ.
Imagine us trapped together, just ten
days ago: strangers. Imagine Kevin
on his hands and knees, palms filled
with couscous, two-pence pieces
and absurdity, me: coughing periodically.
Imagine us hooking the Cross
from a thick layer of bottle tops,
beaming miraculously.
Nadia Lines is a young poet from the UK. She is reading English at the University of Cambridge. Her work has been published by the Young Poets Network, Modern Poetry in Translation, and The Keats-Shelley Review. She was a 2019 Foyle Young Poet of the Year. Twitter: @NadiallLines.