Eileen Ní Shuilleabháin

The Mountain  

In my dreams
I still hear the wind
scorch the mountain side
peeling granite ridges bare.
Night sooths the bruising
seeping black slickened oil
into crevices
distilling into air.
I listen to an ancient
buried here beneath this creaking world.

I light a bonfire on the hillside
kindling made of ragged scars.
Flames fever at first then burst
fall to embers.
Heather and thistle
loneliness like a death
bristles underfoot.

Ghosts of children
play among ruins.

Family faces familiar
yet strange.
Women barefoot
wash clothes in streams.

In my dreams
I still see the mountain.

Eileen Ní Shuilleabháin grew up in Carna in the Connemara Gaeltacht area of Galway. She currently lives and works in Galway city as a social worker and psychotherapist. Her work was previously published in The Galway Review, Apercus Quarterly, Boyne Berries, Scissors and Spackle, and Emerge Literary Journal.