Issue 1

Tom French
Four poems

                           Snow Angel

         Its single blemish       two craters
 inside the greater                       wing-shaped crater,
 footprints of                            whoever stood here,
    knowing that the               creature of water
            and cold he’d           make depended
           on his shaking           snow from
            his shoulders          and hair
             and stepping         gingerly



for Éamon Little, on our birthday


Were you conceived in the room you sleep in
upstairs now with your wife and children?
The search for the truth begins and ends
with the register for sea trout and salmon
lifted from the river, where, among currents,
spring tides and pools, your surname occurs.


Although they are beautiful, if you can turn
a blind eye to the names for bait and lures -
Damsel Nymph, Fluttering Sedge, Hare’s Ear,
Black Ghost, Whirligig, Night Muddler
this book, filled as it is with names and weights,
is a dead ringer for the one the midwife keeps.


Even now, as we rise to check on the children
where they sleep within earshot of the river,
two midwives are rising in darkness, dressing
for all weathers, fixing, what pass, in this light,
for fishing tackle boxes to their carriers, and
setting out in opposite directions to deliver us.

Wind Chime

                           From the
         flower pot
               it wintered in,

           I spill
             the kindling
         a squall

            our bamboo
                  wind chime to,

          as if
            to plant it out.

PADDY MEEGAN’S ‘From The Life Around Me’

The extra lines that Paddy Meegan pens
on the fly leaves of From the Life Around Me
are the luck penny that the cattle dealer gives.