The Manchester Review
Paddy Bushe
Four Poems
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My Lord Buddha of Carraig Éanna

It’s to keep the bay level, I joked,
As I nudged him into balance
At the edge of the cliff, his bland
Garden-centre smile facing out to sea

And to Carraig Éanna, its silhouetted
Birds, and its occasional almost-strain
Of old stories recounting themselves
Among the indifferent heads of seals.

He has settled in well. Some two
Or three winters. Stirs himself only
For the approaching lawnmower, sinks
Easily back into where he was.

Two or three winters. Storms foreseen
And unforeseen. The moulded folds
Of his robe bear hints of lichen.
The smile is softened by weathering.

From my window, his shape in the light
Of where he is between sea and sky,
Between field and shore, assumes
Today that he has been here forever.

Equanimity, now and again. Equilibrium.
O My Lord Buddha of Carraig Éanna,
Your plaster-cast presence is welcome,
Rooted in all this betwixt and between!