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Writer's pictureBulb Culture Collective

several years later by Helen Nancy Meneilly

in air thick with rain’s threat, i pull

words up like sick on string. hiding

in the spaces between sounds, ammo

under my tongue. alms of leaves

stream overhead, shivering

in near-moist air and listening

in whispers. my face burns as if

the sun had smacked me, but

it's not come for days. you used to

pray by your father's grave, and say it was

for his sake, not for yours.

you'd say the same when my blood

burst in blue fireworks

under skin. say i'd learn.

that i bruise too easily anyway.

i grip a thin wrist as quiet

comes with rain that raises us

from a dead man's favourite bench. i pry

a flower from its bed. take it

home to a glass urn where i

water it, and watch it die.



Originally published by Poets Choice 2021


Helen Nancy Meneilly is an Irish poet and MA student. Recently highly commended in the 2022 Hastings Book Festival Poetry Competition, her work has also appeared in The Shore, The Orchards Poetry Journal, Gyroscope Review, The Metaworker, and others.

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