Smithereens Press Chapbooks 'Rootless' by Jennifer Matthews | Page 22

Daithí Mór

Man of deep chest
there are stones inside, swallowed whole
next to a child’s song and a child’s tractor.
You make a well inside for me to drink.
Man of long arms
they are branches that reach over oceans
retrieve histories, leaves
your fingers. You let me pluck them
before autumn.
Man of broad shoulders
you hold graves and grandfathers on them,
they pull roads behind you as you run.
You make a house with them for my head.

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