by David McLoghlin
Usually the youngest among the ones
who still have hyphens for death days
—maybe, finally a woman, or a name heavy
with vowels—I’m represented by a single poem.
So don’t think me ungrateful. Even though I wrote it
myself, there’s a curt strangeness, rereading my bio,
that leaves out my life: “work published in Shindig,
Black Rhino and Coterie. Has lived in Rome
and Antwerp. Now teaching Special Needs in Trim.”
I know the crabby elder statesman anthologist
has given me the nod to stand for this generation.
I know speech after long silence; it is right
and just, to be here. And after all the definite
red brick edifice becoming the canon
in the previous pages, there’s a tentativeness
about my single poem: but something growing,
nonetheless. Even though it might just
be breath on the window.
David McLoghlin is a poet and writer of creative nonfiction. His books are Waiting For Saint Brendan and Other Poems and Santiago Sketches. CRASH CENTRE will be published by Salmon in May 2024. He teaches creative writing with Writers in Schools, and is a mentor with the National Mentoring Scheme.