Claire McSherry

Plums

Claire McSherry

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From that time before,
The tree - gnarled and rough,
Full and humming with the business of
wasps – appears to me, still.
In those months
Twigs littered the ground, trodden on,
Like casualties of the gods,
Broken from the weight of
Plums. We did what we could,
Buckets in hands and reaped,
Reaped against the overgrowth.
The aubergine and the olive,
The softened and immature
We did not distinguish, there was no time.
We would bring teeming containers
Inside, at prepping stations
As the sun became horizontal with the leaves
And we sensed the dying light
Looking up at the foliage strewn
like polka dots against the sky.

The days of plums and jam
could not last.
A wideness has opened;
my home is not my home.

Claire McSherry


Claire McSherry is from Armagh and studied English at Trinity College Dublin. She is set to begin an MA in Poetry in 2017/18.


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