Cuchulainn
In
mid-life I grew into my childhood hero.
I
stood in the hound’s shadow. Its paws,
like
circular saw blades,
poised,
ready to maul.
I
gripped my hurley in one hand,
sliothair
in the other,
wished
it was only a mythical dog
I
had to kill.
The
hound’s jaws were prised apart
by
verbal battles and egg-shelled
silences.
Its hot breath
raised
blisters on my skin.
I
whacked the sliothair
down
its gullet, watched
as
the ball dragged the entrails
of
my marriage out the rear end.
I
grabbed his hind legs, smashed the body
against
a concrete wall, became sole guardian
of
the vulnerable. The ones,
I
believed hound would always protect.
Ann Walsh Donnelly
Anne
Walsh Donnelly lives in the west of Ireland. Her poetry has been published in
various literary outlets such as Hennessey New Writing in The Irish Times (July
2018), Crannog, Boyne Berries, Cold Coffee Stand and The Blue Nib. Her short
stories have been shortlisted in competitions such as the OTE New Writer
of the Year Award, Fish International Prize and the RTE Radio One
Frances Mac Manus competition. One of her poems was highly commended in
the OTE New Writer of the Year Award (2017). She won The Blue Nib Spring 2018
poetry chapbook competition.
Tags:
Poetry