Day 4: The Great Thaw

We fidget on settled sofas / tired of our tissue
blankets beckon in the hot-press
but we’re not cold enough / not yet compressed
the season’s turned / though not quite enough

A man in shorts / yesterday / in the graveyard
not even shivering on the freshly turned / since repressed earth

We talk of fairy lights / smaller tables
less chairs needed / more lights / candle light
lights that need batteries / lights that will never light
again / we fidget on the sofa / push hands down the sides
looking for all the things / we can no longer find

Mum hasn’t seen Frozen yet / maybe this year
to feel numb / conceal / for a time / to not feel
to let it go / let it melt away
as we fidget on the sofa / with our tissue

Next year / we’ll build that snowman again
maybe / after the great thaw

Damien, 45, is once again firmly locked down in Ireland after 23 years in Paris, London & Amsterdam, working in the fashion industry. His writing focuses on identity, sexuality & fragility while falling over & learning how to get back up while baking rather good cakes. His short stories have been in Second Chance/Original Writing, Body Horror/Gehenna & Hinnom, A Page from My Life/Harper Collins, Coffin Bell & poetry in Eyewear, The Runt, Black Bough, Barren Magazine, Fahmidan Journal, Neurological & Anti-Heroin Chic. His debut poetry collection Eat the Storms was published by The Hedgehog Press. He hosts the weekly poetry podcast Eat The Storms in order to work off those rather good cakes.

If you like to listen to poety as well as read it, check out that podcast – a joyful showcase for Damien’s own work, and the work of emerging and established poets from around the world. Damien is an immensely generous host, offering enthusiasm and support to his fellow writers. You can buy his book via his blog or directly from Hedgehog Press.

Twitter @deuxiemepeau



Eat The Storms

8 thoughts on “Day 4: The Great Thaw

  1. What a wonderful fidgety read this was. I know the feeling – so much time indoors. The man in shorts by the fresh grave made me think his wife died and he ran out of clean pants. Poor soul.


  2. I enjoyed the inclusive tone of this poem, the feeling that I’m there with Damien, the familiarity of the scene, the talk of preparations for Christmas, the anticipation – the hot-press, so Irish, reminds me of my life in County Meath! – and that feeling of not quite being in winter. I smiled at the man in shorts, I’ve seen one or two of them myself.


  3. It is a fidgetty sort of time. I would usually dance around the house if I was let off Christmas, but this year because it isn’t going to happen, I rather regret it. Enjoy the peace and quiet and look forward to a riotous Easter 🙂


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