Roisín Browne’s Poetry

Jun 29, 2017 by

Roisín Browne’s Poetry


His hands clasped
fingers trussed, a
candle wax form
poured by Round
Towered Holy men.

Yellowed mesh
stretched out
and down
about and past
the knuckle bones
to wrist end, tapered tight.

Neat unlipped
duck-egged nails,
sit within the grouted seams,
as drylined crevices
engrave saffron canvas.

Known indented
swirls of my near
two score years.

I press my fleshy thumb
to the base of his,
gently knead between
root and palm,
up and down
left to right, circling
one last time.

Softness remains

it surprises me.


*Lámha is the Irish word for hands.


Roisín Browne lives in the seaside village of Rush in Dublin, Ireland and likes to spend her free hours writing poetry for the enjoyment of herself and others.

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