Houses on the Clontarf waterfront
utility in crystal,
these windows
of stacked rows, bowled
against the ocean
blowing in. like
going to a bar
on saturday
on a sunny
afternoon
and looking over
the upturned pintglasses,
settled in steadiness
and catching
wet light, fresh-washed
and glistening
on their rubber-nippled
spill-mats.
an awareness
of possible
thunder;
good weather,
eventual storms.
On reading Elena Ferrante’s My Brilliant Friend
it’s very put together –
very much like a movie,
and I am sure
they are planning one soon.
at the climax, a woman
watches her friend in a bathtub
on the morning of her long-awaited wedding. much
made of shoes – surely
a symbol of something. and much also
of sex also – the wanting of it,
the not having it,
the being
disgusted by it.
and now and then
a flash of something;
like fish underwater
bursting at gnats. there is something there
by way of a soul,
but not much
and not enough anger
in unacceptable ways.
just a beautiful
empty house
built by workmen
sold to a lawyer
overlooking the sea.
Coming back
coming back in
(from another day
spent answering phonecalls
and emails, minding
somebody’s business
in an open-plan office,
airy and instant
coffee) made once again
more bearable:
the parking car, the stairs
and climbing them – this
tower I scale
each evening to open
our door. and you there,
my life in a kitchen,
frying a slice
of halibut with onions,
a steak with onions, golden
pasta, chinese
noodle soup. barefoot, tiptoe, the sun
setting on your bare
arms. setting as it does
over the river.
DS Maolalai has been nominated six times for Best of the Net and three times for the Pushcart Prize. His poetry has been released in two collections, “Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden” (Encircle Press, 2016) and “Sad Havoc Among the Birds” (Turas Press, 2019)
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