Lorraine Carey – Two Poems

poet2 Lorraine Carey from Greencastle, Donegal now lives in Fenit, Co. Kerry with her husband and four children.  She has had poetry published in several print publications and in online literary journals, The Honest Ulsterman and Vine Leaves. Shortlisted in The Originals (The Short Poem category) at Listowel Writers’ Week 2015, she’s currently working on her first collection.

Fountains

We sat, upstairs overlooking St.Stephen’s Green.
following high heels and polished brogues rush to a wedding,
gift bags swinging and bright with promise.

I curled my fingers around a latte,
watched my daughter’s lips as speech swam out.
A brownie crumb balanced at her mouth’s corner,
but the words gambolled by, cotton wool freight.
The crowd’s hum rose as lunchtime loomed
bustling loud as I tried to ruminate.
The bus from Tallaght to Eden Quay,
the fountains gush captured sun sparks
as we sat sharing a Benson and Lipton’s Iced Tea.

Reality unpicks the day, prodding me as I drift.
These unravelled skeins of snapshots
I’m unable to contain. A shifting montage
on a loop, a grapple on my brain.

I search for you everywhere faces merge, two ladies entwined, crouched on a
verge in the crowd, hovering on Dunnes second floor. Stitches on
a crochet hook, you unravelled and slipped away, left me to go grey alone.
We’ll never again count the bridges, on any autumn morning.

Their perfume whooshed by, ruched the air, I searched
for the hardened tissue, now a scrunched ball of stringy white.
Forced a smile as she slipped her nine year old hand in mine,
squeezed it tight, without words……….


Violin practice

Those clasps on your violin case own a
coating of rust
in the years that have crawled up
on us. Those gnarly fingers
dressed with indents from practice,
made sweet sounds eventually,
before puberty stomped her feet

and then, you ceased to play.
The Boston violin rests,
the interior mould, a velour vanilla
in an attic with our childhood –
your jaunty notes were folded with
the irregularity of palm creases,
in a faded manila pocket.

I roll the nugget of resin between my
own whorled tips and try to capture
your essence, your scent,
and these moments spent

in quiet remembrance.

 

 

 

Aside | This entry was posted in News, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Lorraine Carey – Two Poems

  1. Pingback: Lorraine Carey – Two Poems – wordburstblog

Comments are closed.