The Road, Slowly

Irish Examiner - - Arts - By Liz Quirke

We idle in the fall be­tween foot plants, rise with the ditches, down again with the drains.

On this Tues­day, buggy wheels trun­dle in the lulls of star­ing cat­tle and Jan­uary fields.

The neigh­bours all claim your no­tice and I’m so glad we’re rais­ing you with man­ners.

The whole road yours, grass tufts and gravel, the Rot­tweiler rattling his stable yard chain.

At your height, the world is all wall and bracken, stone and pud­dle, you don’t know the hori­zon.

But as your sis­ter bab­bles, your eyes shift to the birds, lake and sea in the one view,

wa­ter that isn’t al­ways sto­ry­book blue, but shades of the weather, as we are.

■ Orig­i­nally from Tralee, Co Kerry, Liz Quirke lives in Spid­dal, Co Gal­way with her wife and daugh­ters. Sal­mon Po­etry will pub­lish her de­but col­lec­tion The Bi­ol­ogy of Mother­ing in 2018.

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