I thought recently how the Mournes
Look like a duvet on a billowed descent
Back down to a giant bed.
Smooth the covers across the edges of the mattress map.
If the mountains were made for sleeping,
You would tuck those big toes under blanketed moss,
Nudge the sea edge with the tip of a crown,
And have the river bed lull you into gentle giant sleep.
But for now there is work to be done –
Scrape that awful racket right across the ground,
Upend the roots, Throw open the windows,
Snap awake the blinds –
Fold, scrub, hold the brush, rearrange the garage.
Make yourself seen as best you can,
With big loud thumps, claim your promised land.
Besides, sleeping giants do not stir so easily.
And when they do, they use their slow hands to make good;
They meld hope out of ache,
Nurse bitterness until it turns sweet,
Push through the jammed gateway,
Make a bed right across the skyline.
Big people make quick joyful work
Out of everyday chores.
So as I grumble,
I wait for the day when my head bumps the ceiling.
At the grocery shop I buy a box of wildflower seeds,
And new vegetables and a bag of chocolate raisins.
I wipe the windows clean,
To let the sunlight back in
Through the blemished memory of rain.
I allow the inners of my home to fill up with new hopes
And I forget what giants look like.
Perhaps they learned to mind their own business,
For there is not much poetry in how feet scuff
And how loose threads snag on life’s door handles.
I got used to wiping the crumbs from the table,
Forgetting they were what I used to feast upon
Back when I was small.
But then, one day, it will be time again
To set aside the clean sheets,
I will smooth the edges of the mattress map
And think of the giants up on the hill.
Hannah Gibson