Right so, it’s the last week of classes before finals and summer break. Things are, to say the least, hectic. However, I want to stay in the habit of posting once a week. Preferably on Sundays. So, here is a video link of me reading at Malvern Books in Austin. Wonderful book shop, by the way, with a great set up for readings! I have also included the two poems I read in addition to the Droighneach Form piece – which I posted two weeks back. Please enjoy, and I would encourage you to view the other wonderful women writers from this reading!
The Window at Moor Park
There is a window.
A window with no glass.
A window framed by stone.
Rather, stones.
There is a window with no glass
and it is framed by stones.
It has a ledge
made from a piece of wood.
much like the stones,
this piece of wood
is a found object.
This window is made a window
by the piece of wood.
without this wood
this window is just a hole in a wall made out of stones.
This window comes to my mind now,
though this window is no more.
Nevertheless
this window left an opening in me
ever since the first and last time I saw it.
It was in the house,
the broken house
made of stones
next to the gate
we had to open
to get to the house
made of bricks.
There was a drive from the gate
to the house made of bricks.
A dirt road between two fields
with fences of stone.
on the right the cows;
on the left the veg.
We never stopped at the house made of stones,
only to open the gate.
Then the drive down
to the house made of brick.
where we met and shook hands
and had tea
and mashed spuds with milk and bit of boiled bacon
and the kitchen would steam
so we had to leave the side door open
even when it was cold
and the steam would pour out the door
and chickens in the yard
would cluck and ruffle and shuffle
and the cats would snooze
and the lads would strike the hurley
off the wall
in their Sunday best.
I was only in the little house made of stone the once.
Flew down to it on borrowed bicycles,
jarring and jangling down the dirt road
eating bugs as we soared with mouths open.
we left the bicycles
propped up against the fence
climbed over to the house made of stones.
There was no roof to speak of
and the inside was grown over with grass.
Crossing the threshold of the doorway,
we ducked
even though there was nothing above.
Only three walls fully standing,
mostly.
the stones had fallen
inwards and outwards
whichever way time had tossed them.
It was quiet in the house
even though we were still outdoors.
That is when I saw the window.
The window with no glass,
framed by stone with a piece of wood as a ledge.
And through the window I saw the road
and the gate
and the house made of bricks
and the cows and veg
and the steam.
And you said,
in hushed tones,
this is where we lived,
before the move to the brick house,
our family,
my family,
before.
We lived in the house by the gate
and we looked through the window
and opened the gate
for the others
who lived in the house made of bricks
before us.
This is where my family lived.
This is where we came to
once
to look out that window
in the house made of stones.
There is a window.
There is a window with no glass.
There is a window with no glass
and it is framed by stucco.
It has a ledge made of wood.
A fine piece of wood
smoothed and sanded
and finished by craftier hands.
This window is a window
because of this wood.
WIthout the wood,
it would be just a hole a wall made of stucco.
This window is inside my house
between the kitchen and the front room.
And sometimes
I rest my arms
on that finely crafted piece of wood
that serves as a ledge
in the window framed by stucco.
I rest my arms
and hold my head
and I think
about the window with no glass
framed by stones
and I wish
that I had gone there more
when I had had
the chance.
In the Round
The circle is a powerful thing
it holds and folds and centers
it comforts, confronts, and constructs
it is the building block
the wrecking ball
the crown upon itself.
It is the open table
and the closed loop
where all who join are connected to each
and the link binds us together.
It is the moon and the sun and the stars above
the earth beneath and the core within.
It is the beating heart and the glancing eye.
the agape mouth
and the clenched fist.
It is the receiving bowl and the giving basket.
It is the serpent’s head
meeting the serpent’s tail.
It is the very apple
It is the dancing girls in May
and the flowers weaved upon their tresses
It is the place where the cats curl up
and the boys chase after
and twisting
and twirling
we
all
fall
Into.
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