Fiona Donaghey, currently enrolled at Cith College in Norwich, is pursuing a BA in English with a focus on Cultural Studies. Beyond her academic pursuits, Fiona actively participates in a poetry group led by Helen Ivory. Embracing the creative realm, she engages in poetic expression and collaborative exploration of literary arts. Fiona’s involvement in this group reflects her commitment to cultivating a deeper understanding of language and cultural nuances. As a student at Cith College, she is not only dedicated to her academic journey but also values the enriching experiences that extracurricular activities, such as the poetry group, bring to her overall educational and personal development.
Harmful Comfort
Holding itself together in the name of jealousy
of the air of things that are still beautiful
chipped from a single vessel, shinny; sharp
not bleeding nor bitter
and you stare at me as if you can not see pain
yet there is such dept in your eyes for anyone who looks at you
I see drops of tears and sharp things
that produce blood like miracles.
Its the end of the world
Mostly I think I cannot move, I am trapped in a rib cage
pounding to get out, the heart is swollen drastically
and the nerves are throbbing
I watch myself from inside, my blood is to hot as it seeps through me
my stomach is abnormally curved without food
I am not attracted to anyone; I am not interested in the irrelevance of the world
I think of razor blades and pills for comfort and assurance
They would dissolve me if I used them but I have stopped moving
I just wallow waiting for help amidst utter despair, just a tiny pause before the end.
The Dog at the Funeral
The dog was unusually quiet
In fact he was out of character
as we prayed the rosary, he watched us
loop the beads without snapping
in any unholy manner.
my grandmother took the part of the corpse
she wore a silk shroud printed with the Holy Virgin
her hands knotted with even more beads
in fact there were so many beads it hardly mattered
that the dog took some from from the dresser
which was as an posing as an alter
he carried them away
and buried them with his bones.
The Paper People
Petals and pills and utter hopeless
the objection of a child proof lid
me, voluntarily on death row
nerves tickling violently
It’s almost time to give up
but the Paper People shout at my paper head
they want me to come back from where ever I have been
I can hear their little bleeps taunting my heart
It feels right to sleep
Then God thumps me loud and hard on the chest
I am zooming through the bed through the floor
through a hospital ward through a room full of dead people
who blink with surprise
just before Hell the paper people shackle me
tie me down with wires and pumps
A machine forcing my lungs to conform
Momentarily my lungs rage and the Paper nurse says
‘I know you’re holding your breath’
and what a breath I release.
The shining
I think there are angels interfering in my life
I never thought to carry rosary beads
I feel like the princess with the pea
As I touch them hidden in my pocket when I sit
I see magical things, because of the angels
everything glitters like fairy lights and tinsel
I want to think about the sun
I think I am a purple person because the angels say so
they think they can bully me with shining
but I am a see through figure and I never hold a grudge
above my shoulders or below my heart
so we are shining, gleaming friends, this is all new to me.
The worry of silence
When washing dishes; consumed in thought
I accidentally broke my heart
dead birds were singing loudly
on my door step, my attention
It fluttered momentarily
I see through the window my daughter
she is mute, always; of course I blame me
I didn’t mind her enough
she keeps her secrets inside her
and I don’t meddle in the silence so sacred to her
Its best not to worry about dishes
the lack of sound will make its way around me
the dead bird stops singing
my child looks at me and opens her mouth, quietly.
The Galway Review 