IRENE CUNNINGHAM
Present
This time crouches
like an island
that wends itself
up a long loch
and yet
there are pockets
of shocking length
hidden behind mists.
Tall tales make sudden
appearances, causing
blisters of laughter
to burst, weep
in small waves
leaving me to bob
in their wake.
This time acts
like a buffer, does
for me as if it were
my mother
and I lie abed
wrapped in this net
trusting that
its weave is strong
and will carry
my weight
a long time yet.
This time lends
wisdom, like a library
stamping temporary
dates to inform me
that my card is marked.
Irene Cunningham, born in Glasgow, now reclines at the side of Loch Lomond. She has had poems published in London Review of Books, Writing Women, New Writing Scotland, New Welsh Review, Poetry Scotland, Stand Magazine and many more journals. Now working on her first novel, she blogs at http://irenecunninghamisinsideout.wordpress.com
