Paula Meehan Poems
|2.||My Father Perceived as a Vision of St Francis||10/14/2017|
|4.||A Sonnet for Gary Snyder on his 80th Birthday||10/14/2017|
|6.||A STRAY DREAM||10/14/2017|
|7.||DEATH OF A FIELD||10/14/2017|
|10.||The Statue of the Virgin at Granard Speaks||7/23/2015|
Comments about Paula Meehan
The tide comes in; the tide goes out again
washing the beach clear of what the storm
dumped. Where there were rocks, today there is sand;
where sand yesterday, now uncovered rocks.
So I think on where her mortal remains
might reach landfall in their transmuted forms,
a year now since I cast them from my hand
—wanting to stop the inexorable clock.
She who died by her own hand cannot know
the simple love I have for what she left
behind. I could not save her. I could not
even try. I watch the way the wind blows
life into slack sail: the stress of warp ...