A poem by Madhuri.
It’s ten o’clock at night
Boats strung out from the stone quay
Along a floating walkway,
The white hotel a-crowd with chilly gawkers
While from a tent the music plays.
And still it’s day –
The rescue boat, a million euros, orange
As a gloss-lined shell
Rests at anchor.
The mainland lifts her hills to see
What she’s calved – this fine island
Across a narrow sea.
Wrapped round
With magic deeping evening
I stand – song-touched, cold in my jacket,
Lifted by the long light’s
Unlikely violet permission.
Square houses group like tribesmen
Who are, and are not, mine –
I am a scavenger for accidental moments,
A waiter, a patient, reprobative stranger.
A lady in a tweedy hat
Pulled low against the cold and crowd –
The sea is polished
Glasslike gleaming
Soft as a bed. That there should be
The way the mauve-grey light has –
Of staying on and on!
– Here at the edge of the sea.
by Madhuri, Valencia Island, Ireland, July 2011
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