Julie Hogg

Macara's & Sacramental

Julie Hogg

Share Via:




                                                                         brass plaque

                                                                     abandoned carafe

                                                                        tartan cloths

                                                         tipping shelves of Tennessee Honey

                                                                    icastic whisky, sarsparilly

                                                                        an arcane hound

                                                                              a Sally Gap

                                                                this November Group’s 

                                                                    edict, braw flits of


                                                                 World’s End




                                                                     oarfish pink

                                                                  florid heather


                                                                   acid yellow

                                                                 black water

                                                              white shore


                                                          wrest coda

                                                              atonal chord



                                                    Macara’s Bar 

                                                           silver gelatin

                                                                         that Killip car


On the day your bridge became,

over the canyon of your life spans’

riveted rungs, Irish lilt and well kept

beatitudes, it split cleanly through a

crucifix, scattered along cartesian

woodchip walls onto the true crossed

wooden headboard of a strange bed,

in a twin room, in a home which wasn’t

your home and we held your rested hands

each side of you, in this on the ropes

milieu, a string of familial paper dolls,

holding onto our air in the still on your

mountain, and, somewhere, a shadow

fell over a peat bog, rolled over a fell,

skimmed Muir Éireann, and a white

rack of candles lit up a whole chapel

until your sacrosanct bated breath

returned to ripple a giggle in cool

bedside water, we cried out the only

immediate answer, a soft generational

replica of your fun and loving laughter. 

Julie Hogg

Julie Hogg is a Poet published in many literary journals and magazines including Black Light Engine Room, Butcher’s Dog, Proletarian Poetry, StepAway Magazine and Well Versed. Featured in anthologies by Ek Zuban, Litmus, Zoomorphic and ‘Writing Motherhood’ from Seren,  her debut pamphlet ‘Majuba Road’ is available from Vane Women Press.