Smithereens Press Chapbooks SP8- Dordéan, do Chroí - A Hummingbird, your Heart | Page 13

Swallows
The knitting needles drew a melody from silence
as stitches followed one another
like swallows landing on a wire,
watching a small dress of softest yellow wool
grow like a sunrise
waiting for she who waited within.
She, who came
and left
all too soon.
Stretched and stitched,
I lie empty, raw, alone
in the cold corridor of the hospital,
the grey knot of my mind
unravelling.
I hold the woollen dress to my cheek,
then unravel the stitches
one
by
one
swallows of hope
disappearing at sunset
to some unfathomable,
faraway land.
My grief grows like wound wool.
Dull.
Full.
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