Smithereens Press Chapbooks SP8- Dordéan, do Chroí - A Hummingbird, your Heart | Page 27

An Echo of Ocean

A dark November morning
in my grandmother’s house,
where skeletons of trees creaked overhead,
threatening us with sharp twigs.
I sat folded within my father’s arms
by the range, where turf glowed red
behind the black-toothed grimace of the grate
as she and he discussed the endless strands
of scuffles, scandals, schedules of funerals.
I nestled further into my nook,
pressed my cheek to his chest
until all I heard was the steady,
sturdy thump of my father’s heart,
the ebb and flow of ceaseless tide,
and below the call of cormorants,
a distant echo crashing through cliff caves.

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