They were in love. This is not a fairytale. She did not offer him a curl as a keepsake. Even then she knew, she had nothing worth keeping. They partook of each other It was not communion. It was not an offering to the gods. Like starving children, they feasted again and again on nothing….
The party girl was down, The pink chowder of puke Splashed in front, Dizziness like a carnival ride, All because of the slushy drinks Slurped on one of those docked boats On the Thames. Been there, Done that, I thought. I stepped Over her, just a lassie In jeans, her golden hair Lifting slightly, And…
You are alone and walking down to Ryan’s house and staring hard at bags of rubbish thrown from cars on the old Dungannon road. Overnight a revival tent has moored in the field as a rule reserved for Fossett’s Circus, or the cars of spectators for the Cookstown 100, who picnic on the verge and…
As sunlight or darkness fits itself around lamp, table, or mountain, silence stitches itself around hopes, thoughts, and words. Some hear it the sound of their own speech coming back from when they are dead. Some find it summer-cool pillow, winter wool coat. Some tack their names on its door and step inside. And if…
If you add up all the babies floating in space, if you climb to the top of a falling tree, if you drink up all the whiskey in the Arabian Sea, you will have done something important for the human race, something of nonsense and impossibility. If you see something disappear without a…
If no one in my family ever spoke of it, if no one handed down? what it was to be born to power and married in a poor country. If no one wanted to remember? the noise of the redcoats cantering? in lanes bleached with apple flowers? on an April morning. If no one ever…
In Donegal we climbed over a cow gate, crossed through a field among hooded crows and earth smells, climbed a stile and stepped onto rain-mucked ground, to enter a small grotto where a stone St. Columba was surrounded by a yellow cigarette lighter, a key ring with green gremlin, a rain-swollen missal, a toy train,…
The better the book, the more of us it reads. Even as I look away, words float? across a world I never knew was there. Page after page, I feel the light wind? breathe a little sense into things.? Why would it be any different with you. I knew a man once who had one…
It makes me think of my other life, this minor chord from the room above, when it’s been within hearing—no, closer: moments when, if I stepped a certain way, or put out my hand… Mist this morning over the ball field. Maybe I am turning into a cloud. Last night I left my coat over…
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