Wilma Kenny is a published poet living in Belfast, Northern Ireland. She has read her work on RTE radio and been placed in a number of competitions such as Trocaire/ Poetry Ireland competition.
Her poetry has been published in Skylight47, A New Ulster, FourxFour and Arlen Press. She has been placed in competitions held by UK Carers and Trocaire/Poetry Ireland
Always with me
You blew away
tearing up your roots.
Blowing back now,
I pick you up,
bring you to my house,
which will always be yours.
I am bent double
with the weight of you,
in my belly,
in my head,
in my mouth,
my torn heart.
I touch your pebbled breast
to arouse my jealous lover.
I long for your skin to seal me.
Saved by nature’s touch.
Recalling that day I got a phone call
Recalling the shrill sound which made me think “bad news”
Recalling the apples on the tree we planted moons ago
It grows inconsistently. Unrecognisable from the scrap
it was when I brought it here in its little basket.
I feel an absence today. Little one that never was. Little
one who must not be mentioned. Little one who I see
in the corner of the garden where the swing used to sway.
Recalling how I picked up the receiver to put it down
Recalling your sister’s body sliced from hip to slender hip
Recalling the day when I returned that call
(Early Monastic Site at Baile an Fheirtearaigh)
The Ogham sent a quake
through my heart. Inexplicably
I heard prayers, which had been
absorbed by the earth centuries ago.
A hollow warning came when infants’
cries rose from the ground. This place also
a grave for babies denied baptism.
Headstones of quartz and sea pebbles eroded.