Saturday, September 25, 2010

Poem of The Month (Sep. 2010)

County Meath, Ireland

I had to get up early
before he came
out from the house;
I had to move quietly
so I wouldn't wake the watchdog.

I had crawled under the gate,
patient as a fox,
after the farmer
left his fields at dusk.
I asked the hedgerow's permission,
lay down close to the undergrowth,
my body pricked by the stubble
of summer's last crop.

At dawn I awoke, soaked with dew
and dreams of passage graves,
of runes hammered into stones
standing and declining
all around great green mounds.
The lapwings wavered
in the lightening sky.

I was looking
at everything twice that September.

Bertha Rogers

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