When I step in grass wearing no shoes or socks
I pretend I know how to play the guitar
and can cook red lentils
without making them too mushy.
I tell people the names of trees,
the purpose of moths, the shapes of constellations.
As my toes sink into soil
I forget the way I like freshly ironed shirts
or how the thought of having to pack a bag
for just one night away dissolves my spine.
When me heels dig into the world
I can start a fire with only my thumbs
and long for a fish to catch with my bare palms.

Carl Burkitt 2024

Written while listening to ‘The Creggan White Hare’ by Daoirí Farrell.