a hammock of winter sleep in the armpit of the highway / a log truck raises its voice above the monotone / sound accelerates down the liquid sheet / polyvinyltraffic cones idle in powder’s mouth / a lone pigeon drives the emptiness home Eimear Laffan’s...
for Mary For fear of polio, as a child,I’d been made to wear a bathing cap,not allowed to get hair wet as I swam. But now here we were: Behind us a cliff,and before us water cascading down,an in-between space,like dusk or dawn. This was not a celebrated waterfall.And...
