For N81
By Dorothy Smith.
Hidden Histories
13 Sept. – 9 Oct. 2009
N81 Late March
two hundred thousand three hundred and twenty five
two hundred thousand three hundred and twenty six
two hundred thousand three hundred and twenty seven
two hundred thousand three hundred and twenty eight
too many snowflakes to count, a confounding softness
traffic peters to nothing, silence rushes in
pale quiet spreads and settles softly on the ground
a white van, swanlike, glides slowly towards Tullow
I cannot count the flakes, I count the footsteps missing in the snow
the Byrne boys in
all of the Powers except Granny Power, still next door
Imelda, who I always liked, with the black baby, gone, somewhere
N81, this feckin’ road leads everywhere and nowhere
taking, always taking, never bringing back
a few hours peaceful, in its coat of bridal white
soon it will revert to lonely emigration black
Martin Swords
September 2009
Wicklow Writers
Poetry Day
October 1st 2009
The Courthouse Arts Centre
Tinahely
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