Hanging in
By Ann Marie Dunne
I come to a stop in the staff car park,
another black morning, dragging
myself from my bed of bad dreams.
I take a few moments, putting off the day.
Through the green metal fence in front
of my car, there is a park, in grey shade.
Here is a large ash tree, elephantine,
solid, still, its turned up branches
like a 1970s flicked hairdo.
I breathe in the ash, its roots under me,
the mycelial networks humming,
conserving, waiting, waiting for Spring.
I come to a stop in the staff car park.
I now wake to brightness, the blackbird,
and a woodpecker drumming in the dawn.
The ash flicks its branches and shimmies,
I nod. Its black buds ready to burst any day
now, like black grapes, juicy with sap.
Behind the ash, a mob of daffodils
explode, detonating nerves, my brain
cells and veins fizz yellow.
I’m not dead yet.
Ann Marie Dunne
Ann Marie lives in Co. Kildare. She is pursuing a Masters in Poetry in Queens. Her poems have been published in Washing Windows V, Sidhe Press, Fire (Arlen Press), The Apiary, The Ogham Stone, The Storms, Apricot Press, and The Honest Ulsterman. She loves books, boats and hiking.
Photo credit: Yoksel Zok
Apricot Press 