Thursday, October 09, 2003

Bloody Hand



Your man, says the Man, will walk into the bar like this — here his

fingers

Mimic a pair of legs, one stiff at the knee — so you’ll know exactly

What to do. He sticks a finger to his head. Pretend it’s child’s

play —

The hand might be a horse’s mouth, a rabbit or a dog. Five

handclaps.

Walls have ears: the shadows you throw are the shadows you

try to throw off.



I snuffed out the candle between finger and thumb. Was it the

left hand

Hacked off at the wrist and thrown to the shores of Ulster?

Did Ulster

Exist? Or the Right Hand of God, saying Stop to this and No

to that?

My thumb is the hammer of a gun. The thumb goes up. The

thumb goes down.



(Poetry by Ciaran Carson)
Ciaran Carson
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Belfast poet wins top award