Meeting Benches World art in all forms
THE MORNING PIERCED
Shovelling ashes and chunks of clinker from the fireplace, I found a bloody nail, whose suffering warmed me through the centuries. It’s cold outside.
ICE AGE
We were cutting logs together, planks from the demolished byre, thick blocks of books, page by page splinters shredded, bark my uncle at the saw, saint anthony, father and myself, merely making ourselves useful, it was snowing left and right, soggy mittens clouds of sawdust, we filled the shed mother came out, saint anne came down from heaven, and said I’ll take just a splinter for kindling saint anthony said, take several you can see how much, we have cut I see mother laughed, uncle laughed the holy father laughed, the saw was struck dumb the cattle, lowed the lake stopped lapping, as we ascended into heaven.
THE GENESIS OF TEETH
Father, like God, comes through the fields, Son, he says let’s shoe the Earth. We shod and shod, blood flowed, we wiped sweat, we sowed beans. A tree grew and grew into wood, Oh and on that tree sat Mother. Father plucked Mother, from the tree and lifted me up into it. The earth rose up angrily it kicked the child, and the tree snapped. Father shouts out like God. The Tree Has Fallen, Mother comforts the tree. Mother ran and ran away. Father dragged the tree off through the empty fields. I sit on the horse-shoeing stump, my teeth fall out I’ll sow my teeth.
