Sheenagh Pugh
The Lit Room
i.m. George Mackay Brown
There was a flat
on a long street by the sea,
a room, scarcely lit,
a head of clay,
sunken-eyed, cheekbones hollowed,
a memento mori
for the face that glowed
from the shadows: so gaunt, so mobile.
There was a word
someone let fall,
that filled him, all of a sudden,
with light. A vessel
of ware so thin,
the wine shone through. Light leaks
into the ocean
when the clay cracks;
into the dark. Who notices
if the street lacks
one lamp, one face?
These days, the room is empty
of shadows,
well-lit; tidy.
There is a flat, on a long street
by the sea...
Page(s) 40
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