Culchie
Treks through the fields to training
(it’s a five minute walk)
Only to be greeted by the sting up the hurl from the
Clash of ash against tractor tyres
Vibrations shooting through the wood and up your arm
Electricity pulses through your body from
Dares to touch the fence ‘for the craic’.
Relief from doc leaves that you rub roughly
Along your skin so the juices can remove the sting
From the failed attempt to dodge the nettles during
Hide and go seek tag in the dark with cousins.
Of course, as soon as you find the best undiscovered spot
You realise that you need to go to the toilet.
Sacrifice the win or hold on as best as you can?
(a few dribbles may have spilled)
A moment
Mammy got new tiles for the kitchen
And she painted the walls some shade of blue
As she gives me a tour of all the changes
that she has made she comments:
“I figured I should do it now before I retire”
I look out the kitchen window and notice that
since I was last here
the daffodils have bloomed and died
(y)Our trees were cut down,
Without them, the fields look
one-dimensional, flat
The trunks collected will be the last trace
from what were our fields while she was alive
This winter the wood will keep us warm
for a moment
and then it will all be gone
And I have changed too
I was sick
I look like a skinny, pale, version of myself
with a slightly yellow tinge to my skin
And I’m tired
I sleep
A lot
But I pretend I’m awake because
I don’t want people to know
Always
The first time I helped to hunt the cattle from one field into the next
I ran behind them with my hands out to direct them
You whistled to push the cattle along and I recognised the sound,
The birds imitate you all the time.
I ran as the cattle jumped and kicked their legs into the air at the sight of
the new field, full of fresh grass
When I do handstands in the fields and cartwheels on the beach
I think of this
You load my arms up with the fence posts and we set out for the field
It is an intricate game of untangling the pile of posts pointing
in each direction and passing them one at a time to you
before your hands are empty
It is an art to loop the wire into the hoop all in one strand.
When we reach the end of where the fence will be it is time to
Grab the wire and pull to ensure there is enough tension
My hands hurt and you ask ‘have you started pulling yet?’
I notice the crows feet around your eyes which mean you are smiling
And I laugh and pull the wire even harder
Herding is the best.
Just the two of us, the squelch of mud under our wellies,
And the cattle to count.
Every morning and every evening.
I always have to do that half-run, half-walk thing to keep up with you
You are always three steps ahead
We always laugh because
I always manage to get the wrong number
And I always blame it on my fair to middling eyesight.
You reach out your hand and I know
You will always hold my hand no matter how old I am.
Find out more about Mary on our Contributors’ Page.
(Photo: jimmy brown/flickr.com/CC-BY SA 2.0)
- Three Poems by Mary Dunne - October 13, 2022