on the phone to my mother
one month before christmas
she wants to name the turkey
~
‘don’t do it mam
you’ll just get upset
when you have to carve up his meat
like last year’
you smile at me
~
in my bed
you are sleeping
and there’s the guts
of a bottle of wine
in me
drowning butterflies
I can’t say your name yet
it panics me
I almost can’t stand you being here
~
you are about to be so much more
than a name and bones
and meat to me
Sionnachaí 