The Murder of Cliona

Cliona sits by the shore

Singing songs of love and loss

Like any underdressed lady of the sea;

passing as one of them, the myths and nymphs

Brushing hair with comb and bone

While all the time, counting waves.

The Ninth one is still hers. She yet

rides the horses of the surf

And Mannanán calls her from the west;

It would be best to return

not wait and hide and hope

for cornucopias of adoration

But she clings on still, a languid

survivor on a rock.

Connla calls by, Sinnan at his side;

they have long ago given up on us,

our ways beyond the

comprehension of mere gods.

They beg her, leave. Come with us

Into the glittering sunsets, into the

Land of Promises. Leave behind

the heartbreak of rejection. Sing with us

once more, don’t let them

poison you here, where you sit.

It’s true her hair is dull

her eyes are swollen and her lips

chaffed. O! mortals, you are killing

Her, killing Cliona of the Ninth Wave.

And yet she sits and waits,

Refusing to drown her hope.

Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

Contents