The Cord and Leaving White Bridge: two poems by Martina Dalton

The Cord

No one tells you

when they cut the cord

and place

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her newborn head

against your breast.

In that first latch

with every gulp

you’ll feel

your womb contract.

With every book

you read to her

you’ll educate

her choice

to choose new titles

of her own.

And every time

you bring her

to the track

you’re teaching her

to trust her pace,

to run from home

without the need

for looking

back.

You’ll pack the car

with every thing

you think she needs.

Warm socks, a coat,

her every single dress

all squashed.

Adjust

her favourite bear

to let her breathe.

You’ll travel back

those miles in fog

without a single breath

that doesn’t hurt.

You’ll pull into your drive.

It’s then you’ll see

from all the years

of scolding

she’s pulled her curtains

back.

The empty room

you helped her pack

will stop you

in your tracks.

With every gulp

feel

your womb contract.

Leaving White Bridge

I hoped you hadn’t noticed

An honour guard was forming

From under fly sheets all along the river.

Old men being dragged

By invisible hooks

From lopsided mouths

Struggling not to show themselves up.

Caught short in summer shirts

Left to do the shouldering.

The mopping up.

Unread newspapers folded neatly

Under arms

Like precious Tricolours.

For the first time in my life

I took your driver’s seat

And placed my hand on yours

As you tried to grip the brake.

Weak, from months of empty retching.

I halted at the last post.

Buckled, underneath the roar

Of the Mallow train

And the drumroll of the cattle grid.

Turned the clock back to zero.

Set the rearview mirror.

And watched your life grow smaller.

Martina Dalton studied fine art at Waterford Institute of Technology. Her poems have been published in Poetry Ireland Review, the Stony Thursday Book, Crannóg, Skylight 47, and Channel. She has been chosen as a mentee for the Words Ireland National Mentoring Programme 2019/2020.