Torn Wallpaper

by Shamima Begum

When I was seven
my Dad worked all night
to finish painting my room.

I lay in bed finding shapes
on the ceiling.
The wallpaper looked like
a map of Brazil
or a man in a bowler hat.

Last night
I was awake, thinking,
I couldn’t sleep.
Across the hall
they were shouting.
Round and round in circles.
I stared at the ceiling,
trying to find the pictures.
Brazil didn’t look like
Brazil any more.
It was just a piece of wallpaper,
missing.