This poem was highly commended in the Ballyroan Library Poetry Competition 2018. The poem makes references to places on the Dingle peninsula.
The air is clenched. Ember smoke guts
from the fireplace. We speak in staccato tones.
An anvil of guilt sits in my stomach
after last nights crossing of words.
For air and time, I drive to Connor Pass.
Fog clouds the road rendering
my map useless. A stream runs furiously
from Peddler’s Lake, slapping the cliff.
I return home and let the silence
sooth out an apology. You still read
the newspaper, turn it sharply. In my pocket
a compass twirls and twirls in frenzy.
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