Faith Hope & Fiction

By Kevin MacAlan

The truth is, I lost her,
we separated like sour milk.
She, the cream, rose to the top.
I, the transparent residue,
left with all the bitter taste.
The rot started, and did not stop.

We were callow chancers
unprepared for an adult world.
Gutless, we came apart.
But I wrote — a puzzle solved,
she found my missing peace.
Heartless, I wrote the heart.

The truth is I designed her myself,
a wishful panacea,
no genuine remedy. Make-believe.
All sighed effect,
all placebo, no libido.
My real undoing. Fake believed.

But readers trust my words
and grant this love a soul.
In fact (in the tradition of missing pieces)
my missing peace was found
beneath a table—a pub table,
under which all reality ceases.

Surrender to disunion
was inevitable. The fall to earth.
We gave to gravity.
But I wrote, we flew with wings
of passion to alight in dreams.
Such pompous suavity!

And I wrote we made our lives complete,
with a love more loving
than the love of lovers.
The truth is we lost our way,
and the trail left by my pen
will lead astray a host of others.

It will lead them to believe in love,
and lead them to believe that poets
know where love is.
You may call this misleading,
you may call this unfair,
but I call this poetic justice.

Kevin MacAlan is a poet who explores deeply emotional territory. He lives in rural Ireland, has an MA in Creative Writing, and has contributed to many journals. He was longlisted for the National Poetry Competition 2023 and The Fish Poetry Prize 2024.