Thin Places The wild meadow weave, the strand, places of late summer, autumn, a stone skimming water, suspended in air, its slow motion glide punctuated by the drop, touch, rise of a ghostly presence, this wary hesitation between water and stone, mysterious as the rift between music notes in air, unsettling the familiar light which shudders again with tiny rainbow bubbles holding air-drops in. And then the final slide over gravity’s edge, into polished bottomless depths, beyond the belly-aching threshold⎯ dropping, ever dropping, into the quiet whispering, the unspeakable tenderness.
I have waited through the long winter grey
the sun a warm breath on my neck,
Far below, the murmurings of wind and water
the whole of the blue sky is stretched wide,
This moment is already time’s fugitive;
pocket, the soft unwrapping of downy buds,
like a container that holds and pours,
To be lifted then into the loose
over the spooling cliff, to drop
I will lead you by the hand to the hushed hum
shivers into leaves, quiet turbulence in the air
I hear its tongue-lick in ivy the way a bat hears
touching the skin like sound braille, tiny neck hairs
and in the stony wind, atoms of light trembling in tiny
Between heart-pulse and light’s shadow-touch,
the wide emptying of voiceless things; earth’s pulse,
Early evening, the sea all silk and copper-clad,
Moon Take the river’s curl, the ocean’s wave, the never-ending trees, the sway of a meadow, the roll of the sun, the scattered stepping stars. And take last month’s silver bud of moon now come full to the sky, her mouth is wide and open, white lips brimming with a soft wet light, month by month, she gives her widening emptiness to the earth, holds the planet in her orbit, washes ocean after ocean over sand: I stretch out my arms and reach for her, hold hands with her rhythm, climb into her open wound, my blood is lapping at her perpetual pull, I sleep in the mantle of her tidal pulse, slip the ring of her light onto my finger. At the last hour of fullness, I wade inside her alluvial silt, feel desire awash in my gut. Lost inside her wholeness, carved into her darkening spine, I am swallowed into goddess light.
Thin Places and other poems are © Eithne Lannon
Eithne Lannon is a native of Dublin. Her poems have been included in various publications such as The North, Skylight 47, The Ogham Stone, The Lea-Green Down Anthology and Boyne Berries. On-line in Ireland, the UK, US and Canada, she has work published on Headstuff, Artis Natura, Sheila-na-Gig, Barehands and Punch Drunk Press among others.
Her work has been listed in various competitions such as the Bray Literary Festival, the Dermot Healy competition and Galway University Hospital Poems for Patience. She was winner in 2018 of the Ballyroan Poetry Day Competition and Runner-up in Against the Grain this year. Her work was also Highly Commended in the Blue Nib Winter/Spring Chapbook 2018 and commended in the Jonathan Swift Awards.
Eithne’s first poetry collection Earth Music will be published with Turas Press in April 2019.