Poem
Michael Coady
Checkpoint
Checkpoint
Checkpoint
Out of the deep galaxiesof detail and the blind ways
that we go and the light
or dark that shines on us
there is this measure of
the nitty-gritty impact
that I’ve made so far
upon the earth:
an unreckonable fraction
of a millimetre in
wear-down of polished
kerbstone, the first
on the bridge,
southwestern side,
after I step at half-past
midnight out of
Maggie Dunne’s
in Carrick Beg
to cross again
(no record of how many
times in all, of which
no two the same
in one direction
or the other),
cross again that old bridge
built before Columbus,
on my way to sleep
in Carrick Mór
where the weir plays
when the tide’s away
and sometimes
between quays
I’m pulled up
and asked where
I’ve come from
and where I’m going
by stars
that stand
on night-watch
in the river.
© 2003, Michael Coady
From: One Another
Publisher: The Gallery Press, Oldcastle
From: One Another
Publisher: The Gallery Press, Oldcastle
Poems
Poems of Michael Coady
Close
Checkpoint
Out of the deep galaxiesof detail and the blind ways
that we go and the light
or dark that shines on us
there is this measure of
the nitty-gritty impact
that I’ve made so far
upon the earth:
an unreckonable fraction
of a millimetre in
wear-down of polished
kerbstone, the first
on the bridge,
southwestern side,
after I step at half-past
midnight out of
Maggie Dunne’s
in Carrick Beg
to cross again
(no record of how many
times in all, of which
no two the same
in one direction
or the other),
cross again that old bridge
built before Columbus,
on my way to sleep
in Carrick Mór
where the weir plays
when the tide’s away
and sometimes
between quays
I’m pulled up
and asked where
I’ve come from
and where I’m going
by stars
that stand
on night-watch
in the river.
From: One Another
Checkpoint
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