Patrick Moran

Plums

Patrick Moran

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My mother is leading me by the hand –

me, a dreamy lad still absorbed

in fairy tales, in whisperings

about raths and ghostly ruins –

down a lane marked by ruts and hooves;

past the stubbles, the looming stooks,

down to the orchard’s apples, plums.


First, I taste the apples – the Charles Ross,

pale cream beneath the orange-red flush –

then stow them in a shopping bag.

But the plums! I fondle the yellow,

freckled skin; I gorge on them,

my teeth piercing the rough, sweet flesh,

the juice dribbling down my chin...

  

And, afterwards, tiptoeing back

in thickening dusk – feeling the weight

of the bulging bag; the fruit coming

bitterly back up my throat –

I clutch her hand more tightly now...

What’s lurking in the creeping fog?

Is that stook of barley stirring?


Patrick Moran


Patrick Moran is a Tipperary poet whose poems have been widely published in the leading Irish outlets; and also in the UK. He has published  4 collections  of poetry, the most recent of which , RECKONINGS, was issued by  Salmon in 2019.

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