Scroll

It will have its way —
a twig’s yearning
for the root and branch of it all.

Midnight scrolling,
propped up on pillows,
in the glow of the twenty-first century.

Tapping into Civil Records,
making official the ledger entries
copied out in a musty presbytery.

And I take off, out on a limb —
Great-great-grandmother’s name
dropped into the search field’s pit.

There she is.
Her daughter, her bud, not yet four.
Herself, barely a bloom.

| First February 1885 | The Glen | Catherine Meaney |
| 28 years | Wife of a cooper |
| Pulmonary phthisis 3 years certified |
| Martin Meaney husband present at death |

**

Now

My mother
comes out to the car when I leave
for home.

At the turn for the main road,
the rear-view mirror
pinpoints her. Still standing
at the end of the cul-de-sac
beside the river.

I tear my eyes back, steady
my hands on the wheel
for the road ahead,
lost for words at the vanishing point.

**

On the edge of a continent

a sliver of gold is showing off
in the blueing sky.
That May moon should be on
top of a minaret.

Two blackbirds are up late
enjoying the moment the cat goes indoors.
They call ‘tranquility’ across the field to each other —
their evening prayer.

At midnight, the gods come out to play
conjuring up millenniums of awe
in the DNA of the rational ones
who still proclaim

‘It’s the Aurora Borealis,
down to visit from the far North’.
But their secret selves are back at the standing stones
afraid of inhaling the coloured night air.

**

Salty

Above
………….you’re rocking it.
Your side to side makes me
greensick. Weak.
My love for you deep as
Atlantic canyons, undimmed
like the sun forever
burning on the horizon.

But
………….when I slip in
floating, treading the unfathomable,
that’s when you turn the cold
shivering love on,
making us meld
salty and hypothermic.

Down
………….opening my mouth a little
too long
allowing you….. in
enough
………….to subdue fear.

Relaxation
………….getting its hook in
and I am
………….………….immersed.

---

Karen J McDonnell lives in the Burren, in the West of Ireland. Her writing in several genres has been published in many countries in anthologies and journals. Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize nominated, McDonnell’s work has been awarded several bursaries and writers’ residencies. Her poem ‘Driftwood’ was shortlisted for Irish Poem of the Year at the An Post Irish Book Awards. Collaborations include the 32 Poets for Ireland podcast, Labellit project, Poems Meet Painters, the Clare Poetry Collective, Poetry Jukebox and Poetry as Commemoration in conjunction with UCD Special Collections, and she has performed her work at many festivals and on radio. Her first poetry collection, This Little World, was published by Doire Press, who also publish TIDAL, her new collection. More at karenjmcdonnell.com