Poems by Enda Wyley
The window sprung open for no reason
and then I saw what I hadn’t before -
the tall glass with its chipped plum frame,
the beam of age traversing the granite wall,
the way light played with the afternoon wind
and how ivy scurried on the old cottage beyond.
A hand not there, a person unseen, the window
sprung open for one reason - that I should see
what I hadn’t before, get up and go outside.
after reading Wislawa Szymborska
No-one feels good
at four in the morning.
Even the fox has given up
its search at Gort na Cille,
has surrendered to the lane’s
steel trap, its straw and bait
that was always there
waiting for him in the ditch.
The bulb of hope has blown,
can never be replaced again.
But then light chases
shadows away up the hill,
over waking ticks
and rustling rats -
the triumphant buzzard,
a thrush in its beak.
It’s five in the morning.
The stray dog finds his way
back to a basket called home.
Shoes by the bed’s edge
are stepped into one more time.
The shutters open. Morning hums.
And look, surprise comes - a hand
that moves to touch your face.
Enda Wyley has published five collections with Dedalus Press – her most recent Borrowed Space, New and Selected Poems, 2014. She holds an M.A in Creative Writing, Lancaster University, has been widely anthologised and translated, was the inaugural winner of The Vincent Buckley Poetry Prize and received a Katherine and Patrick Kavanagh Poetry Fellowship, 2014.
She became a member of Aosdána in 2015.
‘Her imagery, honesty and insight make this a first rate work.’ Poetry Ireland Review.
www.makebelieve.ie ( see Solar Eclipse )