And so, you called.
And the raspy sadness in your voice
caught me unawares.
If I could
I’d rise, Cuculann-like,
2 metres at a time
2 K after 2 K
Until I reached your grimy, city door.
There, I would feed you pizza and hot chocolate
There, I would hear each poignant, essential woe.
There, forgiveness would sit between us
Shy and strong
Fat with generosity.
There, in those concrete confines
Whilst the city sirens still screeched
I would resist the urge to fold you in my Bridget cloak.
To strap your defeated body on my back.
To soar with you to the golden hills of
I would hear your words at last
I would cut from you
the dull, hessian binds of Home
Offer you instead
the silk- shot threads of Belonging.
From this Pandemic’s Peninsula,
we would attempt to begin again …….
Catherine is a part-time dabbler in writing , living and working in Donegal.