Pass

This poem was highly commended in the Ballyroan Library Poetry Competition 2018. The poem makes references to places on the Dingle peninsula.

 

Pass

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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