‘Camac’ by Christine Kelley

Little sister of the Liffey,
she’s slender and restrained
like a bulimic kept sewn
into corseting cement
on every side of her body.
Where she’s kept underground,
her water has become torpid
and opaque as tired limbs
endlessly scrubbing the dishes.
Where she tunnels out at
Goldenbridge, she’s pressed in by
estate blocks and industrial yards,
and gathers up all abandoned things.
Her banks are littered with liquor bottles
and empty cartons of cigarettes.
Even the foxes prowl
her mud with caution, and birds
will only inspect her shiny flotsam.
Yet when she peers through
the spiked fence by the takeaway,
when her eroded walls spout
red clover and mallow and selfheal,
how can you not see
an elegant lady flowing by,
so patient and judicious?
How would you not fall in love
with her then, just a little?

From issue #6: spring/summer 2018

About the Author
Christine Kelley is originally from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. She is currently living in Belfast while finishing up a Master’s in Poetry at Queen’s University, where she was a recipient of the Seamus Heaney Centre scholarship. She also holds a Master’s in Literature from Villanova University. Christine loves birdwatching and knitting.