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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 8, Number 1, March 2014


Marion Clarke
Warrenpoint, Northern Ireland

Lough Reflections

A rare Irish summer takes us by surprise, sneaking into our bedrooms, dappled with sunshine and the faint cries of seagulls. It nudges us, sleepy-headed, from our beds. We root out our buckets and spades and dash across the road to the shore.

Among the rock pools, my brothers and sisters and I mess the morning away. We splash each other with breath-stealing, lough water and catch green crabs and sunlight in our nets. Morning ticks its way towards midday heat.

From the other side of the wall, your voice is carried on the breeze, calling us for lunch. You appear, squinting, as you watch angles of coloured yachts skim the waves, racing each other and time.

Later, with sun-smacked shoulders and newly-freckled faces, we flop about like rag dolls on the parched grass, plucking dandelion seed heads. I blow one of the clock-flowers towards evening and, breath by breath, scatter the remains of summer.

another winter . . .
your rusty garden seat
still creaking



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