Paula Meehan, My favourite poet

Well

 


I know this path by magic not by sight.
Behind me on the hillside the cottage light
is like a star that’s gone astray. The moon

is waning fast, each blade of grass a rune

inscribed by hoarfrost. This path’s well worn.

I lug a bucket by bramble and blossoming blackthorn.
I know this path by magic not by sight.

Next morning when I come home quite unkempt

I cannot tell what happened at the well.

You spurn my explanation of a sex spell

cast by the spirit who guards the source

that boils deep in the belly of the earth,

even when I show you what lies strewn

in my bucket — a golden waning moon,

seven silver stars, our own porch light,

your face at the window staring into the dark.




http://irishwritingblog.wordpress.com/2013/04/27/paula-meehan-reads-her-poem-well-live-from-the-cuirt-international-festival-of-literature/


Take the time to listen to Paula Meehan read this poem