Trigger

Full as a tick,
senseless as a wooden doll,
he staggers out
the smoky door
into the glaring sun;
he can't see, can't hear.

I'm supposed to turn right at the junction
but my hands go cold on the wheel, eyes freeze;
I should signal now but my fingers won't work;
car horns crash like cymbals around my ears.

Can't keep his balance,
stumbles on the pavement;
there is a blur of noise,
light streaks past him;
wants to say something
but cannot speak.

Heart's thumping fills my ears, air whistling
through my lungs thickens to a wheeze;
I see the shadow of my chest heaving;
heat swarms my head like flies.

His body rocks
from leg to leg,
he lurches
a few steps more
and falls with a bang
he cannot feel.

I could reach out, search for an inhaler;
should turn away, eyes shut, head down,
put my foot to the floor;
make a dash for it, never mind the traffic.

The sun's heat
and the world's swaying
churns him up:
it spews out
from both ends
on to the street.

Feed Me

You were crawling on your hands and knees,
mud stained, sick with hunger,
back breaking, legs red and sore,
hands cracked, cold and alone,
knew only earth and stone,
pulling at grass, nothing to sustain you.
And how you sobbed,
wishing you could stand and
walk upon the earth.

Was it the brush of wings
that made you twist your aching neck
and glimpse that many coloured bird
pecking frantically at its own breast,
pink blood dripping onto barren ground.
You parted cracked lips,
caught salt rain on a swollen tongue.

It was a bowl which never emptied -
you grew to love its alkaline taste,
felt strength seep into your body,
fill you out like a deflated tyre,
warming from the inside
until you were strong enough:
rising unsteadily to your feet,
standing, the way your were always meant to,
upright, tall and strong upon the ground.

Looking about at what you'd been denied
you were speechless, overjoyed and angry:
cool air on your face, the smell of flowers,
tallness of trees, colours in the rainbow,
blue sky overhead and the horizon -
pointing out the limits of your world.

Standing firmly on the earth,
sun warming, the wind touching you,
overdosing on the scent of flowers,
unaware that you are still drinking
from the many coloured bird,
devouring what you don't now need,
you have begun to bloat
like a balloon, becoming lightweight;
don't feel it when you're no longer on the ground,
looking only upwards, losing sight of the horizon;
blue sky becoming darker
as you drift into the cold emptiness of space,
floating towards the sun
where you will burn up like an asteroid
gone astray.

^

Biography

Anne Mac Darby was born in county Laois but now lives in Kilkenny. She writes poetry and short stories during rare quiet moments. She has had work published in Ireland and England in such magazines as Poetry Ireland Review, Cyphers, The Interpreter's House, etc. She has won several awards including a first place in Syllables Poetry Competition