Proof of Loss
Oisín Breen
Here,
In the sagebrush,
Under the careful minatory
Of shadows: a ministry
For the last warmth we shared,
I find memories of you
Between my hands.
I recall skin pressed to skin,
Painted with the juice of crushed fruit,
An open box, a pregnant horse,
Imitation sandstone, and long walks
By busy roundabouts.
Yet even now,
The streets resound
With proof of loss,
And memory tears me from sleep,
For I was foolish then.
Yet even now,
I sustain myself,
By remembering warm summer days,
Hands clasped, but most of all,
I remember laughter,
And a shared resolve to exist.
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A poet, part-time academic in narratological complexity, and financial journalist, Dublin born Oisín Breen's widely reviewed debut collection, ‘Flowers, all sorts in blossom, figs, berries, and fruits, forgotten’ was released Mar. 2020.
Breen has been published in a number of journals, including About Place, the Blue Nib, Books Ireland, the Seattle Star, Modern Literature, La Piccioletta Barca, the Bosphorus Review of Books, the Kleksograph, In Parentheses, the Madrigal, and Dreich.
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