RHUBARB

My Clan Mother is the great she-devil
of the forest. She stands twenty feet
over fields of wild rhubarb, Dutch cabbage.

Her face is black, blacker than the blue
of night where stars shed tears into rivers,
lakes, onto the windscreen of my car.

If I weren’t in such a hurry
I would pull over, wait for her
to pluck me from the hard shoulder.

Together we could hunt boar
in the forest and at night stay dry
beneath the cauls of newborn children.

Biabhóg

Biabhóg

Is í bandiabhal mór na foraoise í
mo thuathmháthair. Seasann sí fiche troigh
os cionn goirt bhiabhóige, cabáiste Dúitseach.

Dorcha a haghaidh, níos dorcha ná goirme
na spéire, áit a ngoileann réaltaí ar aibhneacha,
ar locha, is ar ghaothscáth mo chairr.

Mura mbeadh an oiread sin deifre orm,
dhruidfinn amach ar an ngualainn chrua
is d’fhanfainn ann go mbainfeadh sí aisti mé.

D’fhéadfaimis beirt toirc a fhiach san fhoraois
is istoíche d’fhanfaimis tirim
faoi chaipíní sonais na nuabheirthe.