THE BODY

Grief

By Eugene O’Hare

on the tenth night, after the tragedy,
i climbed out of the rubble

and, ignoring my wounds, set about
rebuilding your body from everything that fell.

i used three yards of chicken wire to reshape your back
and two iron railing spikes for your legs.

for your arms—snapped branches of ancient oak,
your head—a warshell crowned with quince

gathered from the fallen forest where once we made
a swing from a car tire & some old rope.

still now, years later, i sometimes put my ear
to the new body i built; expecting to hear you inside of it
relearning breath and small words;

saying kiss me all over again,
love me all over again.

even with your woodchip fingers,
your head of metal, its halo of crisp dead flowers,
i kiss you, i love you.

Eugene O’Hare is an Irish playwright and actor. Since he began writing poetry in 2020, his work has appeared in many international journals including Rattle, Invisible City, Rust & Moth, and Consequence. He was shortlisted by Billy Collins for the 2022 Fish Poetry Prize.