On Clare Island, Ireland
a family marches on cobblestone
uphill
curved like a gull’s wing
by the breakwater wall
waves clash on the brick wall
a soundless gong
the ocean is unsettled
absorbing a child’s fear
using it against the world
wind bullies them around
on one side of the wall
fence posts have strung wire
like at the Normandy front lines
light shooting through the intersections
on this side sea spray on the stone walkway
life is slippery and elusive
the family wears black wadding boots
bright yellow lifejackets
a child has a toy soldier in a pocket
he will bury it at the crest
and mark the location later on paper
the water is grief-stricken and anxious
blue-grey skies crawl low to the ground
rain shifts its weight
a rainbow streaks a bomb burst
the boy will wear a yellow slicker in his nightmares
the hill will seem higher as he walks upwards
his feet never touching hallowed ground
the wounded toy soldier in his pocket will cry rain
there is never an end to this dream
even when awake
the world is slippery and chilled
Editor’s Note: The last line of this poem weaves together the imagery of the preceding lines to great effect. The suggestion of grief is subtle, but emphatic.
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