Wednesday, 19 May 2010

One Poem by Michael McKimm

April Saturday 2010

The blackbird calling in the tree has found a mate
and the trees themselves are sprouting leaves
and we are wearing sandals
and swinging home with shopping bags
eggs, potato bread and beers
and my parents text from the queue
to the Eurostar
excited about their new trip to the Loire
and the drug dealers swerve their souped-up
engine down the wrong-way street
and Richard from upstairs is talking out his window
about sunshine and summer and ash
and inside you put on a CD
the kind Virginian lady singing of
night-time drives and gardens
and the dandelions have come up out of the ground
and the maple tree is blossoming, the jays
are being uncharacteristic
and the drug dealers’ stash is safe in the fence
and we fry the eggs, the bread,
sit at the table where the light comes through
the slatted blinds
and down the road the blackbird is calling out a new tune
and there is nothing in the sky
for the first time in my life
but space and air and big bold perfect blue.

Michael McKimm is from the Giant's Causeway, Northern Ireland. He graduated from the Warwick Writing Programme in 2004 and won an Eric Gregory Award in 2007. His poetry has appeared in Magma, Oxford Poetry, PN Review and The Warwick Review, and Dossier Journal (New York). His first collection, Still This Need, was published by Heaventree in 2009.

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