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Poetry

Bridie

Bridiemeanwhile the clock on the mantel sings
of news from the mainland
meanwhile a woman bends low
spooring the hearth with a bundle of birch twigs
her hand on her hip, back aching from planting row
upon row of seed potatoes. meanwhile the seagulls
raise their young on precarious clifftop ledges, puffins
dodge and strut their stuff, beaks full of silver herrings.
the cliff lifts itself to god, shakes its great cliff shoulders
heaves the clouds that halo its head this morning.
sun shakes the island awake before those of us on the mainland have
buttoned up coats donned shoes and scarves raced for the bus to
school to work to train and mars.
meanwhile the clocks ticks its hum of night
rings its alarm for the day to waken
meanwhile the woman spoors the hearth

bridie's fire must never burn out.

Geraldine Green