and the bones are begging to be let
loose with their drums and handbells,
with their tales of the sea at sunrise.
Lauren K Alleyne, ‘Ask No Questions’

DURING THE WEEK of the Brexit vote, I flew to Thessaloniki from London on the spur of the moment. I was in the United Kingdom on a month-long research trip but had lived there on and off for years, mapping a sea-borne, migrant past in the archives of empire to research my first book. That summer, the summer of 2016, my great-uncle was dying in a hospice in north London. My mood was fragile, and I knew the city far too well. For my sanity, I fled for three days to a little seaside town in Greece, where a friend had been teaching a poetry workshop.