Butter Side Up

Exploding Tree

—Poems and Artwork by Steve Denehan, Kildare, Ireland 
 

SIN

I ate up a sin and it swallowed me whole
sulphur and iron soured my tongue
I turned up my collar against the wind
I closed my eyes against the rain
I clenched my teeth against the cold
I stood, I waited
puddles rose up over my shoes
I felt the water creep over my ankles,
my thighs, my stomach
cold, steady, relentless
time brought the water to just beneath my nostrils
reflex brought me up onto my toes
pointlessly
I felt the splashes from the raindrops against my eyelashes
cold fingers slipped into my ears with natural intimacy
then, I was under
I was the sin

________________

DAUGHTER

You leaned in close and asked me to close my eyes
I did so and began to smile, sure of something playful to come
you asked me solemnly not to move my mouth
I tried

slowly, delicately, you traced a pattern under my left eye
as if running the tiny pad of your finger along a spider web
you told me to open my eyes
they were met by your face, sorrowful and embarrassed
you told me that you were touching my old age
you smiled a little
and forgave me

 Yachts on Fire

HUNGER

My hunger has a voice
one day it was quiet, gentle, nudging
then, it was not
my hunger wants more than I need and more than I deserve
sometimes it finds me deep in sleep and drags me to the surface
where I gasp for air, and for everything
my hunger pushes me, moves me and destroys me
slowly, quickly, slowly

_________________

ROSE-TINTED BINOCULARS

A time ago when I would run the grass would barely bend

The laws of physics and myself were not considered friends

I would fly along at such a pace my shadow would surrender

Before a letter was even sent I could return to sender

I could jump from any crazy height and land without a mark

I could tumble down most any hill, make a fire from a spark

My hands would very rarely rest upon my handlebars

The road was but a playground for weaving through the cars

From our secret lair we could watch the world and never once be seen

If dirt was steel I was a magnet with not an inch left clean

Ghost stories made the short walk home last a thousand years

A multitude of hidden things to fertilise my fears

I made a fairly decent dent into the sugar mountain

And quenched my never-ending thirst with a sticky fizzy fountain

Trees were climbed and blood was spilled and bees were caught in jars

And our hearts came tumbling from our mouths as we lay and watched the stars

 Lighthouse

ADAPTED

Learning of his death just yesterday
I breathed in
the quiet devastation
of realising
that I was fine

it is always raining somewhere
I suppose

________________

ROBIN

For four decades death was a stranger to me
I empathised, I offered my shoulder but I did not really know death
then, this year, death came
an uncle, an aunt, another aunt, a friend
death came, they left
the clink of tea cups and teary smiles
cold and waxy sunken cheeks
“No more pain now, Dad”, my daughter tells me with her smiling, bun-filled mouth
she is four years old
she is right

 Desert Mirror

BROKEN

Murmured conversation and cutlery scraping
into the restaurant he came
as out of place as anyone has ever been
he was older, enormous, bedraggled
his shoulders were wide, straining against a greasy brown coat
his hair, matted, above a weathered face
stopping, he seemed surprised to have arrived in the restaurant
he turned to face our table and we caught eyes
words, of a sort, fell from his mouth and landed on the floor
he was escorted out and the silence was filled once again
with murmurs and scraping

___________________

BUTTER SIDE UP

I dropped a slice of toast today and it landed butter side up
as I stooped to pick it up I could not stop smiling
the day no longer loomed before me
it stretched on, without horizon
a straight line of possibility
butter side up
perspective shifts, the world tilts toward me
some day to come I will ask myself how such innocuous moments can matter
so much more than they should
but not today
today, there will be no more questions

___________________

Today’s LittleNip:

BLANK PAGES
—Steve Denehan

The blank page has power
often it is opportunity
more often it is intimidation
it can be a fresh start, new beginnings
it can be the end, absolute
sometimes, it is a euphemism, the transience of life in microcosm
sometimes, it is nothing
just a blank page

___________________

Steve Denehan lives in Kildare, Ireland with his wife Eimear and daughter Robin. He has been published in The First Literary Review, Poets And Poetry and The Poet Community. His poems are to be published in upcoming issues of Sky Island Journal and Third Wednesday. Some of the poems which appear on Medusa today were originally posted on www.allpoetry.com and some appeared on The Poet Community.

About his poem, “Adapted”, Steve writes: “I am adopted and recently learned of the passing of my biological father, a person that I never knew. This short poem is my attempt to put into words the strange effect this news has had on me.”

Welcome to the Kitchen, Steve, and don’t be a stranger!

—Medusa

 Steve and Robin, Snow, 2018

Photos in this column can be enlarged by clicking on them once,
then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
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