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the island speaks to the refugees
I open up my craggy arms, my cliffs,
this shift of whirling gulls,
stretch my beaches wide,
reach out my hands
made of coral, stone and sand,
scatter islands like roses
or breadcrumbs, to show you
where to land
and when you’re close enough
I’ll lift up the rough cloth
of my hedges, fields and loughs,
wrap it’s patchwork cloak around you,
gather the lush green folds
and rolls of sequin blues
to make an earth cocoon
for you to grow in
because when you’re rested
and ready to stir
it will be my pleasure
to watch your wings unfold,
unfurl in my cloud-thick hair,
sprout your new roots feet deep
into my lungs and feed me
your fresh air.
Jessamine O'Connor lives in a train station on the Sligo Roscommon border where she works as an English for speakers of other languages tutor. This poem is from her collection Silver Spoon (Salmon Poetry, 2020). She is also an editor with Drunk Muse Press.
