a bird belling in the eaves of the house.
look up at the ceiling because for some reason
sounds like itís in the centre of the room Ė
like a huge tweeting light bulb Ė
weíre surprised not to see it.
the same time Iím wondering how many people
find themselves writing about the woman
accidentally joined a search party for herself.
should I give a kidney to Hugo Williams?
canít remember if Iím blood type O ...
And there is a risk.
canít take risks with two small children.
boys saw the dog kill a baby rabbit
in the woods this afternoon.
tried to encourage B to show some emotion Ė
Didnít it make
you sad seeing that poor tiny fluffly little thing Ö?
But no. Heís a bit like Matisse in his
his bright strips of paper and his scissors.
am his Lydia, sweeping up
his crackers and cheese.
little brother calls out, ĎMummy, Mummy, Iím crying!í
which I reply, ĎI have no idea where I am.í
(Poetry Ireland Review: The Rising Generation, Issue 118)