Two poems by Rona Fitzgerald


No bluebells on Ben Ledi to ring grainy gorse.
Hard paths, weary stones, winter not ready
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ to yield.

A red kite hovering
++++++++++++++++ vigilant
waiting to teach his fledgling to fly.

Near the top soft snow
fresh, translucent
deep enough to show a clear blue light.

Like your six month old eyes
++++++++++++++++++++++++ now closed
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 PoetryThree 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 SunflowerPski’s Porch2017.

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