Saturday Poem

Syrinx Escape

The swan will waddle in
from its easy shadow
Leave its tear-shape imprinted
on the crushed rushes.

The butterfly will souse
its bridal-price of colour
It will fold its wings
on a weighed-down stalk.

A crisp froth will break
from the face of the water
only wisps will be left
snagged on its border.


And your body will finish
its graceful dance
vigour will pass
from your satin limbs.

You’ll have no defence
except the warrior reeds
dark grey spear heads
a living shield.

by Aifric Mac Aodha
from Gabháil Syrinx
publisher: An Sagart, Dublin, 2010
translation by author