‘Windfalls’ by Breda Spaight

after Li-Young Lee

I collect the last of the year’s windfalls.
Half-bare branches droop under autumn cloud,
my bare head stung with cold droplets.
Twilight rustles in the beech hedge. I turn,
a smoke-grey owl coasts through russet shadow.

Often, as a child, I watched my mother
saunter among the apple trees, talking
to herself, her home-place accent fluttering
the deep folds of her mouth. She paused to
listen, smile – laughing at herself, I thought,

her pale fingers cupping the closest fruit.
Nutmeg and clove, sugared apple juice
in buttery pastry – oven odours
in the warmth of my nightfall kitchen, a change
in the thrusts of wind addling the window.

Is it my mother crooning amid the trees
in her orchard language? I almost call
to her, until I draw back the white voile
and see swaying branches stroke each other.

From issue #2: spring/summer 2016

About the Author
Breda Spaight is a writer from Co. Limerick. Her poetry has appeared in numerous Irish ezines and journals, including The SHOp, Burning Bush 2 and Crannóg. Her poetry has also appeared in US, Australian, UK, and other international journals. She was a guest reader at the Paris Book Fair in 2002.