family – Fionn Wills

NaPoWriMo #30

Valley

Home. Home is in the hills.
Among valleys where flora turns
emerald ice dead winter,

Where water tastes of dew from
the strands in a duck’s moustache.

House is the habitat.
Home when breath breathes ‘welcome back’
a ghost-hello, condensing words in air.

‘kettle’s on’, or ‘put kettle on’,
steam: birth of a brew.

The brick and mortar, the
tile and plaster, carpet and cutlery
can be dust

For trusting limbs, natural smiles,
are crux to kitchenware teeth.

.
There goes thirty days of poems. I’ll post an exit strategy tomorrow, but until then keep reading and enjoying.

‘Exit pursued by a bear’,

Fionn Coughlan-Wills.

NaPoWriMo #12

Holding you like I might a bottle of wine

On my favourite sofa. both eyes reflect
over my shoulder
your mother, left. your father, right.
Each one separate and both combined

Your father’s face, a pride you cannot yet fathom
through blurred vision where people become the air.
And hers, simply in disdain of your
furrowed brow to do so.

Outward from those gleaming irses,
micro-film to read under a voice projecting later,

in my hands, one
cradles your tiny head,
the other on the small of your back,
no wider than a handspan.

I hope, for years to come,
it is impossible to watch your
developing ouevre of faces
without seeing one, or the other,

in either eye.

For G.L.

Night.

Fionn Coughlan-Wills.

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