On Loan. ( Ar Iasacht)
I was taken aback when Deirdre,
wife of Naoise told me that she had
my poetry collections out on loan
from the local library. I felt that she
had enough troubles of her own
in exile with her family without being bothered
with poetry. She was well aware of
what was about to befall her, did she not
dream of the slaying of her husband and family
not to mention seeing her own name
inscribed in the book of death.
She continued to talk
about a series of poems she was composing,
there wasn’t a lot else to do while on the run
in Scotland. I felt the inevitability of death
in what she said and told her this.
I returned home to pen a prayer.
Storytelling is an intricate business.