Poetry by Darlene Corry

    Lewin Bormann CC




The crossing

“You hold onto your pain like it means something, like it’s worth something. Let me tell you
                                                              it’s not worth shit. Let it go”.
                                                          Nathaniel Fisher, Six Feet Under


I sat in the silence and the silence sat in me. Exposing great,
gaping black holes, that bled emptiness, leaked pain. 

Last night was the long, dark, tea-time of the soul*.
Ever get dumped by a roller? Smashed. Lost. Tossed 
like a rag doll. Eating sand, no up or down. My turbulent
overwhelm Will Not Kill Me. Pain doesn’t kill you. 

I sat in the silence and the silence sat in me. The solitude
was raw, was empty, then not. It was filled. With me. 
Inky black night sky, pitted with stars. Leaking radiance. 
Eventually the holes were filled with liquid silence.
Not too hard to bear, after all. Not empty, but full of life. 
My soulfire.

I surf in my awareness. The eye of the storm, my observing I/eye. 
I sit in the silence and the silence sits in me. 
And I learn. And relearn. 
To be awake.


*Douglas Adams

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Darlene Corry is currently doing a Creative Writing MA at the Seamus Heaney Centre. She’s been writing as a way to express and contain herself since she was a child. And has no plans to stop, ever. She is an Australian who has made her home in Northern Ireland, and now lives by the sea with two gorgeous dogs, a beautiful, grumpy cat and the most wonderful lover.