Like a wary traveller suddenly at the door,
\nshe\u2019d ask about the corncrake
\nand if I ever heard its call.<\/p>\n
It was, I used to think, a simple question \u2013
\nnothing cosmic, deep or existential \u2013
\nshe was, I just assumed, adjusting to the time<\/p>\n
to which she had returned.
\nTo tell the truth, she might as well
\nhave asked if Victoria was on the throne,<\/p>\n
if Hitler was the Chancellor, or if the border
\nat Blacklion was now some kind of fact.
\nIt\u2019s a wonder that she never asked<\/p>\n
if we were, the two of us, by any chance related.
\nWas I perhaps her father, her brother
\nor her son? And did Mulhern still have the pub?<\/p>\n
This summer\u2019s day, with a son of my own,
\nI\u2019m asking if he\u2019s seen or heard the swifts,
\nfor I\u2019ve spotted only three or four this year<\/p>\n
and I remember when they screeched in numbers,
\nhurled in the hundreds by the Gods themselves
\nas, mesmerized, I stood on Darling Street.<\/p>\n
But then when was that? And who was I?
\nAnd was I myself at all, stock still
\non The Brook, Hall\u2019s Lane or Paget Square?<\/p>\n
I know it must have been
\nbefore they tossed the backs of things \u2013 the beautiful,
\nimperfect brick of outhouse and stable,<\/p>\n
the blacksmith and the bakery,
\nthe guttering; the tiny gaps in townie rooves
\nwhere the swift-admitting slates had slipped a little.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/b\/> The whole thing seems unstoppable, skywards to grip and lift and reel. Hoist, and most will slap and clatter at your feet. you\u2019ll fall asleep to liftings and to lowerings, <\/p>\n <\/b\/> or the squattest Ottoman. The black, carbuncled carapace. beneath the hoisted bag of slack. Home Like a wary traveller suddenly at the door, she\u2019d ask about the corncrake and if I ever heard its call. It was, I used to think, a simple question \u2013 nothing cosmic, deep or existential \u2013 she was, I just assumed, adjusting to the time to which she had returned. To tell the truth, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":298,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[379,380],"tags":[388],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\n
\nThere\u2019s mortal shock in that swallowed thup<\/em> \u2013
\nthe deep and instant plumb drop
\nas hooks and feathers plummet
\nlike a host of fallen angels into slate.<\/p>\n
\nlike the paying out of graveside rope,
\nuntil some deep and unseen frenzy
\nshakes the rod and sends you<\/p>\n
\nAnd then you see them! A multitude of mackerel
\nblooming like a chandelier
\nall lit with death. A frantic mirror ball of fear.<\/p>\n
\nThe foul-hooked ones you dare not think about,
\nbut tonight, when each is cleaned and cooked
\nand eaten up with salt and lemon juice,<\/p>\n
\nto sun and splash and saltiness.
\nYou\u2019ll dream the ocean\u2019s rise and fall.
\nThe downward baited line. The upward glitter-haul.<\/p>\nThe Toad<\/h5>\n
\nThe toad made for the pool.
\nLumpily,\u00a0it struggled
\nlike\u00a0a walking footstool<\/p>\n
\nA coal-man with a leather cowl \u2013
\nsilent, joyless, burdened down.<\/p>\n
\nThe pressured, anxious,
\nweighted gaze<\/p>\n
\nAndaluc\u00eda. Anthracite.\u00a0
\nA cruel memory of piggy-back.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"