I Did Not Know You, Moniack Mhor
but you have always been there
in one guise or another.
I trace the range of Strathfarrar with my finger,
I draw the line of it in the air.There is no sea, no sea here,
no Juno, Jupiter or Saturn
(the ships of my childhood).At Moniack Mhor I lie with the bees,
their still bodies floating above me.
A horse rider clips in the lower valley, curlews cry in my ear.Hills fall behind hills,
behind hills. Moniack Mhor
is forever opening—
a gift of dry grass, crab clouds,
the green nest of furze slowly breaking apart.Nightly the yellow almond buds creep closer,
until I can taste them in the dark air.
Copyright © 2018 by Marion McCready
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission
==Poetry Ireland Review is the journal of record of Irish poetry. Published quarterly, the Poetry Ireland Review publishes the work of both emerging and established Irish and international poets. In line with keeping the journal fresh, vibra