Poetry by Aoife Mannix

                  Sue Thompson CC



Living With

There is a softness to the rain,
after the rush of summer madness.
A single blackbird singing hallelujah
that this morning, though our bones
ache with the fatigue of pointless questions,
the tick boxes of those who have already
decided the answers, we are rising up
out of the wet grass. The pale pink roses 
glistening with grief.  Their petals 
glass bottles rolling through the nights 
of black holes.  Lost cosmonauts.  

There is a shade of darkness to saying 
I love you to someone you know
will not remember your words
come the pain of light.  But it is gentler,
when the sky is a bruise with pin prick stars
hidden under the sleeves of dawn.
You realise you have been holding
your breath as the clouds exhale.
Small hands pattering against the glass
asking to be let in.  An open window.

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Aoife Mannix has published four collections of poetry, four librettos, and a novel. Her work has featured in Abridged, the Honest Ulsterman, Gargoyle, Crannog, Citizen 32 and Magma amongst others. She has a PhD in creative writing from Goldsmiths, University of London. See www.aoifemannix.co.uk for more information. 

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