Celeste Augé

Two poems by Celeste Augé

Celeste Augé

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Gym Poem  #3 
Latimuss Dorsi

As I stretch my arms up over my head
the sensors in my back adjust my stance.
On the wall in front of me, the chart of muscles
shows the groupings I use to balance.

My favourite:

a pair of vast wing-like muscles
splayed across the back as though
we’re simply featherless bipeds, 
our bird-like nature hidden, under our skin.



Postcards From Home

It’s harder to be the one left behind, gaps left
where your friend or sister used to stand.

Gaps you can’t walk into, or brush past
without displacing one more speck of them,

to be vacuumed up on a Friday morning.
Until not one iota of the one you love, 

the one who left, remains in the spaces
you fought over (the remote control,

the TV chair, the downstairs toilet,
the stool up at the bar next to the taps),

until you can’t see the spaces you should
be stepping around, and you can’t help but

step right on the spot where Catríona 
used to wait for a pint of Heineken, and say 

have you heard from Catríona lately, strange
name on your tongue, distant as though

you have changed channels, are watching
a different soap now.


Celeste Augé


Celeste Augé is the author of The Essential Guide to Flight (Salmon Poetry, 2009) and Fireproof and Other Stories (Doire Press, 2012). Her poetry has been shortlisted for a Hennessy Award, and she received an Arts Council of Ireland Literature Bursary for her forthcoming poetry collection, Skip Diving. In 2011, she won the Cúirt New Writing Prize for fiction. She lives in Connemara, in the West of Ireland.