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.

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