Steve Denehan lives in Kildare, Ireland with his wife Eimear and daughter Robin. Recent publication credits include Better Than Starbucks, Fowl Feathered Review, a “microchapbook” as part of the Origami Poems Project, Terror House Magazine, Dual Coast, The Opiate, Sky Island Journal, Poetry Quarterly, Evening Street Review, The Folded Word, Ink In Thirds and Third Wednesday. One of his poems was recently shortlisted for the Ireland Poetry Day Competition. His chapbook, “Of Thunder, Pearls and Birdsong” is available from Fowlpox Press.
Next week is our last and we, so contented
yet, the sting of leaving waits
there, in the distance, a tiny death
we do not mention it in words
but it is there and I can sense it smiling
the smile of an eternal victor
it wasn’t there at the beginning, or rather
it was so far away, so small, as to be unnoticed
halcyon days, halcyon weeks and we, contented
as anyone ever was, as everyone should be
glimpsing the heaven that was promised to me
on grey days by grey men long ago
that gift of guilt they gave to us
guilt with claws that nestles still
between our vertebrae
guilt that is a stone in my shoe
a constant reminder that there are others
more deserving of it all
there is a lunar eclipse tonight in these clear Mediterranean skies
it is a perfect moment, another perfect moment
and I relax and realise that, already, I am too late
and as the guilt stirs
I wish our last week away and yearn to be home and
I stare at the blood moon, and the blood moon stares back
Poetry in this post: © Steve Denehan
Published with the permission of Steve Denehan