Oil.
paint so thick
it would still stand up
up if you took
off the canvas.
she leaves them out
to dry in this high
drying weather,
standing like laundry
on our shared patio.
the colours:
a blue oil
swirling with red oil,
black oil, slicked
on blue water,
sticking like oilspills
to her white
flying birds.
.
Immortal today.
at the door
to the cornershop,
5 on a saturday
with a bottle of wine
and some apples.
catching the light
in the shine
of the river,
blocking out all
other light. I feel
immortal today;
bored of detail.
a girl passes by
wheeling a bicycle.
a man comes by
walking a dog. life
is an egg, burned
on the stovetop.
the sunlight
is butter
on toast.
.
Five years
dropping by a restaurant
on my way to the cornershop.
arranging a dinner
in two weeks
for two. five years it’s been now
that you’ve been here
in ireland;
you arrived, by the calendar,
when I’d gone away. but I came back
too, after all
my adventures,
and here you were, waiting,
and awaiting your residence
card. and you
love it here – I don’t,
but I’ll stay here now
anyway – and now we must celebrate
your five year anniversary.
it would be a good day
I suppose to propose.
© DS Maolalai
DS Maolalai has been nominated seven times for Best of the Net and three times for the Pushcart Prize. His poetry has been released in two collections, Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden (Encircle Press, 2016) and Sad Havoc Among the Birds (Turas Press, 2019).
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