Beauty Spot, and: Storm over Manhattan
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Beauty Spot
What springs to mind is a far-off diggingsound, the likes of which you'd hear outwest, as if slabs of wetness are being cut,as a sleán is driven through wild peonies, cotton-grass, and flowering swathes of bull rushes.Come dusk, turf pyramids scatter a dyingsun across lesser-known layers, where bog oakis sought after. It was our Cerberus drives homethe fact wee young Emily Rose Aldershothad in fact been shot. Three bullets she tookto the heart his nose found, our curious little cockerspaniel, not far below butterworth and sundew,in her embroidery anglicise holy communion frock.Heather and blood-orange asphodels swayas her white ribbon surrenders to inevitable dusk.
Storm over Manhattan
Couples are making for St. Mark's for cover,as you cover me with your Donegal tweedjacket, passed down from your second cousinonce removed, who was removed to Great OrmondStreet after Omagh. Omaha Nebraska you saidworth a trip once we'd find a way to comethrough this dalliance of ours. Lightning strikesthe Empire State. Afterwards, hard rain speaks [End Page 154] volumes to empty streets in a language as fluidas embraces throwing caution to the wind.A force ten blows our hull and mast relationshipbeyond Liberty. We will sail to the mouthof the Bosphorus, where Judas trees bloom pinkover Istanbul in pursuit of Constantinople. [End Page 155]
Anne Fitzgerald is a graduate of Trinity College, Dublin, and Queen's University, Belfast. Her poetry collections are Swimming Lessons and The Map of Everything. She is a recipient of the Ireland Fund of Monaco Writerin-Residence bursary from the Princess Grace Irish Library.
