A Poem by Seamas Carraher

C-A-N-C-E-R

     for Teresa

This detonator-love-drug
that wakes us early and
breaks all the pieces,
coming like a slow train
into the station,
for always it's a Sunday morning
on the deserted platform here.

This terrorist bomb for
the visiting tourists,
though there are
no strangers left
in this strange land,
no map to make our way
among these unfamiliar faces.

So make your own way now,
sweetheart,
even though it is not spring
nor summer
but some sad solitary season
whispering
another silent lament:

how, after we had fought
war after war
in the days of all the beating clocks
(the uncountable days of all
these drunken doctors)

the strangeness ended here,
on this deserted platform,
heart beating heart
in our shared forgetfulness.

That only in the passing
is our presence together
visited, my
once-upon-a-time
and happy-ever-after,
sweetheart.  You

Seamas Carraher was born in Dublin, Ireland in 1956.  He survives on the Ballyogan estate, in Carrickmines, South County Dublin, at present.  His work has been published in various print and online journals.  http://www.seamascarraher.blogspot.ie/