Let us praise the Son returned, Mother
and not rush to bash the dishes in the sink
at the sound of how much I have grown
since that shore where I broke from your breast,
surely I was meant to be weaned
before we both grew wizened.
Let us praise the burial of Agony and Ecstasy,
those too sweet tastes of my swift returns
nailed down to the bitter anguish
of how quickly I would swim back out,
tugging on the tension of the cord
that had been cast, but not to cut;
I was only going out to test the ocean
and draw my own reflection on a surface
untampered by other opinions.
Oh, let there now be praise…
for I am back now, in the back room,
now, once your room, once Nana’s,
once Pop’s, once the world when the sea
was such a sealant to suggestion.
So, let us praise my final return
and those sleepless nights as your snore
rattles through the walls I’ve swam back to.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
First created in a Poetry Workshop at the Doolin Writers Weekend 2020.