Tuesday Poem

The Cutting Reason

I go back to the island,
see the house, no longer home,
breathe the sea, to breathe the sea.

Walking the streets, Belfast on Orange
Eve. The two of you, sipping tea. Bewley’s.
Pane of glass, the glass between –

and when my skinned heart finally stops
beating and beating, a lambeg drum,

I know, having walked away,
the cutting reason why I came.

by Catherine Graham
from  Pupa
Insomniac Press, Toronto 2003