I live in the grounds of an old church, St Nicholas of Myra, in The Liberties in Dublin. It dates back to the late 18th century. This is the view out my window, morning or night.
I live inside that tower, looking out. I’ve screamed, shouted, waved and banged my head against the copper wall, inside, but all to no avail. No-one sees me, no-one hears me. It’s damp and cold for most of the year, then it heats up and I roast, like a pig on a spit. They do feed me but no-one talks. I never see them. I only hear their movements as they climb the stairs, unlock the trapdoor and slide the food, the plate scraping the surface of the tray, into the cubbyhole. When someone’s outside and I scream and shout, they turn on the bells. What will happen to me? Is there no end to this?