Poem Hunter
(15/07/56 / Curragh Camp, Co. Kildare, Eire.)


When we were young
we amused ourselves
by asking how
many angels could dance
on the point of a pin?

“What was the point? ”
someone had asked.
“And if we knew, then what would we do
...with such useless information? ”
“If God can do everything...anything
can God make a stone
he can’t lift? ”

The answer catches us either way.
Now, today
I hold a pebble
that has escaped yesterday.
It glints in the present
catches today’s sunshine.

“That’s Mica...schists! ”
you laughed
“Sorry...old schoolgirl joke! ”
It rests
on my open palm
an escapee from some holiday nobody had planned
that we had on the spur of the moment just gone on
to get away from our known world
be nearer the selves we had forgot.

In my mind
you are an angel
dancing on a pin
caught in a spotlight
a glitter ball staining you with light
as you spin & spin

and I find like God
I can’t lift it
this past
in that pebble
escapes me(eludes me)
...like the glitter ball light.

All I can do is
raise it to my lips
and kiss it
good night

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