Thistledown Press

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Murmuration
Excerpt

P align=left>My father could pull a plough
you used to say P align=left> Like a giant he was, with a chest this broad—
your two arms spread wide, to show me
and I'd imagine this colossus of a man
working the field in the rain
cooing to his Gypsy Cob mare while the old ridging plough cut furrows
through the heavy soil P align=left>morphing from a sodden field in Blackwatertown, Co Armagh
collective memories encoded in bone and sinew,
passed down from him to you and to me,
to quark through my hands like premonitions,
and into the clay loam of this dry garden (all of us labouring,
while Rome falls seven times)

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Nothing You Can Carry
Excerpt

“Hosanna”

 

Every flower

 

that opens is a hosanna

 

a prayer heard

 

that only needs

 

be answered

 

yes

 

 

 

prayer is not asking

 

not supplication

 

prayer is dwelling

 

in the rapture

 

common as weeds

 

swarming so close

 

upon us

 

 

 

beyond the fear of being

 

untethered

 

by wonder

 

you are carried

 

deep within

 

to the fuse

 

that made you

yes

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