Category: poems
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summerhill
The house I am in, ancient echoey and paper thin ~ rattling on the side of a road ~ awake at dawn crack through the dusty window singeing the wings of dead blue bottles on the sill ~ my blue eye lashes my lower lids lap dreams only to suffocate from light their dark throats…
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turkey
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…
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Limbs
it would be strange if we switched limbs – on a night wolf-cry hot the part where lipcracks turn to mouthflesh and forearms cool foreheads ~ while the sky lights quiet-as-milk Laced fingers and funny bones behind ears the tenderest of skin – lover big moon ghost in my garden friend of mine – it would be…
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You girl. You know that which is dendritic is electric. You are free from that which earths you as long as you burst forth and grow
Sionnachaí 