Over a lifetime, the gods
make many things of you.
I have been a hart, hunted
through the darkening woods.
I was the vanishing point too;
and the heart pierced by arrows,
chambers breached and flooded.
One terrible winter, I was an Iris.
Oh do not assume that bulbs
remember spring and flowering.
I’ve sat down at a table laid
with the corpse of my child
and been expected to eat.
And I have soared of course,
seen how the world is spread
wide for those who fly. I have
killed with beak and talons
to fill their little gaping throats.
I have asked for the chariot’s reins
and set my whole world blazing.
I have been fox and snake and bear.
I have been stone and waterfall.
I have been loved too much and not enough.
I have been split open by the first green shoot.
I have been folded neat and safe inside my shell.
I have been both grit and pearl.
I have been the earth’s gold veins,
the aching rift between continents.
Best was the time of herd, of being
not one alone, feeling the ripple that moved
breath-connected through us; the power
of knowing when to run – before the blow is struck
or the teeth sunk – and when to go back to grazing.
The poem is reprinted from Metamorphic, 21st century poets respond to Ovid, by kind permission of the publishers, Recent Work Press, Canberra, Australia: recentworkpress.com
Moyra Donaldson, from Co. Down, has published seven collections of poetry, including Selected Poems (2012) and The Goose Tree (2014) from Liberties Press.