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Pól Ó Lorcáin
Paul Larkin

Chroniclers are privileged to enter where they list, to come and go through keyholes, to ride upon the wind, to overcome in their soarings up and down, all obstacles of distance, time and place.
Charles Dickens - Barnaby Rudge, Chapter The Ninth

The day my youngest son came into the world - An lá a tháinig mo mhac is óige ar an tSaol - 18-11-2002

0420 and she taps me on the shoulder
a tap no God could make
drilling through my synapses
my sternum and coccyx
my epigenetic codex

a gap there is a gap
absence of low thump
the regular knocks
my backbone has been divining
for these past nine months

taxi by the time my eyes are awake

the driver wary, respectful
as a dam bursts across the Liffey valley

eas, foinse, fuarán, gush

a cuid uisce fágtha ar urlár an chairr
pools of becoming
in the footwells
no one saying nothing

muid ag caint go híseal
loch an linbh
tá sé/sí ar a bhealach

urgent silent speech
an uncomprehending driver
understanding everything
who says we cannot mind read?

slewed into the hospital space
still he said nothing
would not take recompense
wished us luck and may God bless

now the tom-tom staccato from the monitor
fading almost to death
sucking the very stars
then rushing to new crescendos

she contrary
like all women in this regal moment

air gas no not that
water no I don’t want water
uisce dúirt me
cuir sin ar shúil uaim
tabhair dom sin

dive again

three women
Mother, Fiona and Anne Marie
strong, labouring
bare arms akimbo
all else extraneous

a train of doctors coats and clip files go by
are ignored

Mná Glúin we say
Knee Women
waiting, tapping,
flowing around each other
hands always returning to the knee
like they own the patent

heads cocked to their rhythm of hearts
sounding the depths of their moon gravity

now is as quiet as Pluto,
fierce as Mercury
how can we breath red air
bereft of oxygen?

few words spoken
but now good girl
and all time is spat
and scrios dearg
and fuck that
good girl yourself

Ah a good sturdy boy!

They ask a name
but from the bed
came a shout and a rousing wail

It could only be Eoghan John Shéimí
Céad míle fáilte is fiche

@ Paul Larkin
Carraic 18- Samhain/Nov-12
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Title: The day my youngest son came into the world - An lá a tháinig mo mhac is óige ar an tSaol - 18-11-2002
Date posted: 18 Nov '12 - 12:07
Filed under: General
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