Croeso i’r Eisteddfod

I feel as though I am being wheeled around in a glass box

A tourist in my own hometown

The glass is frosted, deciphering signposts is a conscious endeavour

The glass is thick, everything is muffled, only the occasional clear word bleeding through

On my own soil, I have never wanted to run further away or be buried deeper

I fantasise being seized and dragged underground by the severed roots that I failed to repair or revive due to my own ignorance,

choking, suffocating, dying just as I lived

Barely able to speak

This is a little poem about a recent experience at a cultural festival in my hometown. I am Welsh, have lived in Wales all my life, yet cannot speak the language very well. It’s been a source of insecurity for a while and it was really felt when I recently attended this year’s Eisteddfod, an annual festival celebrating Welsh art and performance. People came from all over the country to my little town and were all communicating in Welsh. I can pick out bits and pieces but am nowhere near confident enough to respond as I didn’t continue learning it after leaving school. The divide I felt from everyone around me despite being a local myself was difficult. The title means “welcome to the eisteddfod”.

 Leah Collins is an 'aspiring writer' from Cardiff, aspiring to grasp poetry and critical analysis. When not working, she enjoys a little r&r; running & rambling.