Poems by ​Leeanne Quinn

 
Portraits
 
I’ve never seen a blade of grass
that wasn’t a smudge of green
blown in on a breeze. I pick up
 
very little, try not to go
by comparison. During the war
my brother disappeared.
 
Presumed dead, buried for days
in our minds, until he showed up
with nothing
 
of the ghost about him.
It was like that then.
I would test my eyes on him
 
until a loaf of bread sailed
through the kitchen air
rattling the door behind me.
 
This was the scene. The smell
of oil rising from the board, my sitter
loathing the likeness, as if
 
they were someone else, as if
I were someone else.
 
 
 

Untitled, c. 1945
 
Sky returns to rigid blue
still we keep to ourselves
 
out of sight grass springs
again through the mud
 
weather prospers
where winter lay
 
though little is known
of the swarm of insects
 
that came past our door
we use our time wisely dream
 
poorly pray for good
weather for several days
 
a dead mouse turns
on the pavement
 
won’t let me sleep
 
 
 
 
​

Leeanne Quinn was born in Drogheda and grew up there and in Monasterboice, Co. Louth, Ireland. Her debut collection, Before You, was published by Dedalus Press in 2012, and was highly commended in the Forward Prize for Poetry 2013. Her poems have been widely anthologised, appearing in The Forward Book of Poetry 2013, and Windharp: Poems of Ireland Since 1916, among others. Her second collection, Some Lives, was published by Dedalus Press in October 2020. She currently lives in Munich, Germany.

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