By Fodhla Gallagher

I open my eyes and hear the low thrum of an engine,
Blades of grass falling like the moon
Upon the sun’s arrival.

I smile when the birds sing as I know I no longer
Have to risk the road to see you, a path
Through trees, moulded by footprints and tumbles,
Concealed by a long winter of growth,
Now unveiled as seeds begin to spring.

The stars blink by and the flowers bloom once more,
The red gate painted green, unused as our legs
Have grown and we favour climbing
The forever unfinished wall.

Toys long lost in the tall grass watch as we pass,
No longer running with glee,
An adolescent burden weighing us down,
The path beginning to fade as our footprints weaken
And the tumbles cease.

Soon, the path will disappear as we stop passing through
And the grass will grow to our height,
Impossibly tall to the ones that tumbled,
Watching as we cast glances over their heads
But never take the step to cross.

For I hear the low thrum of an engine and I smile
Although I know the blades of grass will not be cut.
I smile for I hear the laughter we shared as I looked
Out over the meadow that brought us together
And kept us apart.

–

Fodhla Gallagher, a 17-year-old aspiring author from the forested northwest of Ireland, takes influence from Irish mythology and her own experiences to craft stories of her own. She’s always adored stories, indulging in endless amounts of books and movies or being found in the shadowed wings of stage-shows featuring friends.