A POEM by Karina Tynan
His gate was closed. A rusty lock
kept a low profile pretending its job
but there was no quibble in the creak./
It seemed like time had stopped.
The flowers were gone.
Weeds filled the cracks consolidating the facts/
though, outside the river flowed and still,
the splendid view, the hills, the horses
calling me back./
I entered. The mess was alluring.
I wanted to be one of those women.
Roll up my sleeves to scrub, to feed./
I strangled a hen, lit the fire,
brought foxgloves in from the fields,
washed and dried his clothes./
Red smoke rose that night
from the hottest fire:
Keep me a secret, tell no one I’m here./
As the stars winked over our mare’s nest,
jeered the shawl over my withers, my coiffed mane,
foretelling my soon to be squandered, name. /
POEM PUBLISHED IN THE STONEY THURSDAY BOOK SUMMER 2018
Edited by Nessa O Mahony\
Drawing By Kathy Tynan. An image from my book TÁIN : The Women’s Stories