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.
Circling,
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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