2 poems by Mary Gillen

Procession Pause

This time has shaken the beauty

right out of our street.

Our voices have fallen — through the cracks.

Cemented in dust, memories crumble

between the bricks

which housed our lives.

The sunlight of yesterdays

is mourned in window panes

and a drizzling grey haze envelops

our row: our rooftops,

our gates, our porches,

our doors and letterboxes below.

But once, there you stood,

leaning,

drenched in summer's glow,

our bell echo-ing

inside,

Sharon's calling, I smiled:

What about Laura?

We'll get her now. I got you first.

Alright.

So there we are,

coloured on

above, and beneath the grey,

indelible – not gone away,

each time

I'll look.

Abbey

Is this an eave of me or a window

into you? All the sky about and I am

searching for a level place: a hold on

which is home: now: is this an eave of you

or a window into me? Dream a place

between in whispers and you'll still see stone

like this where we belongs to each and nigh

is us and them and grass and sand and bone.

Hear again the rushing calm and answer

to these concrete streets and hallowed bridges

below or over us and all the time

the pealing: cathedral distance sonic:

in the window of you beyond my eaves:

the eave of me through which you window:

the window of you beyond my eaves.

__________

Mary Gillen is an Irish poet from Sligo who is a University of Galway alum. A mother and former teacher, Mary is now based in Staffordshire where she coordinates Trout Poets. Her recent poems can be found in Southword, The Passionfruit Review and elsewhere. Mary lives with ME.