Homage to Omey
Afternoon sun on my back,
irregular slap of water on rock,
and then, a skylark.
Fine sand blown over
the hill’s top, over the lake,
swans, and the sound they make.
Aquamarine, the colour of the sea.
Nobody to say my name,
no one to listen to me.
Nothing to remember
but the currents swell and shift
and the island itself;
again my head thrown back,
my eyes shut, clear music in the air
and the smell of sea-wrack.
Day of mist. Whitethorn in flower
on the High Road. Green, young,
the honeysuckle at my blue door.
The Atlantic breaks on the strand.
In fields and ditches, whitethorn
shelters blackbird, linnet and wren.
No brave branch died last winter.
Red haws endured the snow.
As whitethorn falls like confetti
and mist turns to rain, I go inside.
I clean the counter top
You put away the children’s things.
Joan McBreen divides her time between Tuam and Renvyle, Co.Galway. She has published four collections of poetry and has edited two anthologies. Heather Island and The Watchful Heart:A New Generation of Irish Poets – Poems and Essays are her most recent books. A new collection of poetry is due from Salmon Poetry in 2013.