I met a woman who told me that all her dreams had died
when her husband left for another woman, not younger
but older.
I wanted to tell her to find new dreams, forage for them
if she had to, turn the globe upside down and shake till
she finds a new creed.
I thought I should tell her it’s all a fudge, a myth. That all
that forever stuff changes your personhood, welds you to
one person, shrinking you daily, until you get smaller than
an atom.
She wailed that she liked shrinking to fit, being tiny, being part
of two atoms. Part of atoms against the world was her final bid.
I reeled home pondering her delusions, imbued with pity and a
dash of anger. Her dreams had died and who was I to revive
or deny them.
The man who told me I was cold was right. The man who told me
I was cold, was himself bitter, more bitter than crab-apples in summer.
I roam the shore at evening time searching for seaglass, a piece I could
roll over again and again in my hands, trying and failing to fashion a
companion heart as chary and aloof as my own.
Marian Kilcoyne is an Irish writer. She has been widely published in Ireland, USA, UK and Europe. Her poetry collection, The Heart Uncut, was published in 2020 by Wordsonthestreet publishers Galway. She lives in Mayo & Belfast. www.mariankilcoyne.com