Mercury Rising
A poem by Sarah O’ Grady

Mercury Rising

I rucksacked ashes
on trains.
My father, his mother,
the first man’s grandmother,
my second man, my friend.

I attract solutions,
orbit melancholy,
a heavy magnet
in the Etch-A-Sketch
of grief.

I release them
onto water, earth under roses,
air to dark, stars.
Plot the ley lines of spirits,
a secret map of adieus:

that tarn, black with reflection,
ringing with curlews.
The named bench,
loose lead tethered
to the leg.

Everywhere
so public
I have broken the rules of decency.

Today I watch a man
scissor the sky on platform ten.
He leaps for joy,
cuts the first sun of spring
from shadow.
My entire day is held
in one gentle pocket.

About the Author:

Sarah O’ Grady writes from Yorkshire. She has been published most recently by Butcher’s Dog, The Madrigal, Hedgehog Press, Broken Spine, Loft, Green Ink & is in several Dreich poetry collections. A pamphlet was short-listed by Black Bough in 2024.
Twitter: Sarah O @palimpsest22.
Published work found at https://www.sarahowriter.com

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