This poem is taken from PN Review 166, Volume 32 Number 2, November - December 2005. The Shannon Stopover Mary O'Malley

The next house will be bone

A cruciform scrimshaw my passport.

There will be a red lamp by the door



In a niche. They will sit, the gateposts

On the highwater mark

In Spring and all the solstices.



Welcome to life in the metal hum

Of gated love, the votive glow of blood

Flowing through the atrium.



Here, it is pitch black behind the mask

A surprisingly soft hood

Though my wrists chaff, blisters burst.



I won't think of the electrodes

Until it happens. Yesterday someone

Lifted the hood. A place with shades



Of green out of a Hollywood film

...



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