The explosion.
the earth bursts and curls
with february yellow. daffodils,
cruel colour
and abundant
in freshness and reds. we didn’t plant them –
the person who lived here
before us did – but still,
I’m glad
they’re there. drinking
from his coffee cup, summer
coming out of the ground
to surprise us,
tapping the windows
with a long thin hand;
the first spark
of a slow explosion,
set to expand
all year.
A sign of respect.
it’s a small cove,
and I stand at its center. wind crawls
the cliffsides,
cold as rivers
in high altitudes. and a river flows
at a low one
over to my left –
barely a stream, really,
though perhaps it was this
which cut the cove
at one time
out of rocks. I think
I think this way only
because today
I am in the company
of geologists. they climb over the cliff-face
and search for interesting seams. I
was mainly brought along
as a driver. me and aodhain,
showing them the countryside. but he
is a geologist also, and just as interested in rocks. I stand
with my shoes off
and watch the surf
as it grabs handfuls of sand
and collects crabs
like a commuter
bus-service. high on the dunes
a dolphin decomposes, dropped
in the last storm of autumn
and dragged up there – I guess as a sign
by someone
of respect.
it stinks salt
and dead seawater
and flies swarm the carpark. there were seagulls too,
flapping all over, until we pulled up and threw rocks at them.
DS Maolalai has been nominated for Best of the Web and twice for the Pushcart Prize. His first collection, “Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden”, was published in 2016 by the Encircle Press, with “Sad Havoc Among the Birds” forthcoming from Turas Press in 2019.
