Leaving

The sale sign,
yielding
wooden hinges
I could
see
peeking through the long grass,
wild yellow sunflowers and
lovers glimpsing
through your doors,
resting their hands
on your red washed wall
the one you said you painted for
me
naked
with muddy hands
the moss covered stones
soft under my bare feet,
into the ashen night
I plunge.

One day in Bray

Blue railings by a raging sea
hands dip to clutch her white washed stones
the scent of rain in your hair,

my pocket
our warm hands remind me
of blustered feathers huddled together
in comfort we sat
languishing over hot soup
as my spoon clattered on the edge.

^

Biography

My name is Sorcha Donohoe, born and raised in Dublin. I have been writing poetry & prose since a very young age immersing myself in words through reflection of ever-changing emotions and relationships. I am shortly about to embark on a degree in Literature & drama. I am also presently working on a collection of poems.