No bluebells on Ben Ledi to ring grainy gorse.
Hard paths, weary stones, winter not ready
A red kite hovering
waiting to teach his fledgling to fly.
Near the top soft snow
deep enough to show a clear blue light.
Like your six month old eyes
as your granddad clothes you gently,
for the grave.
The Bought Dress
Pink with a white bodice, flared skirt
a wide bow tied at the back
puffing out my slight seven year old frame.
Like the cloud soft tutu I saw at the ballet.
It’s fuchsia my mother told me
like the bush on our way up
to Kilmaconogue for the summer.
There were so many in the shop
I got confused
taking the last one I tried
twirling for my mother
the doll on a music box
My first ever bought dress.
Rona Fitzgerald was born in Dublin and now lives in Glasgow. Her most recent publications are Aiblins: New Scottish Political Poetry, Three Drops from a Cauldron Midwinter Special, Obsessed with Pipework No. 78, Oxford Poetry XVI.iii Winter 2016-17, and ten poems in Resurrection of a Sunflower: Pski’s Porch, 2017.
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