{"id":6528,"date":"2018-09-30T00:11:41","date_gmt":"2018-09-30T05:11:41","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/?p=6528"},"modified":"2020-09-04T04:55:02","modified_gmt":"2020-09-04T09:55:02","slug":"i-walk-toward-myself","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/i-walk-toward-myself\/","title":{"rendered":"I Walk Toward Myself"},"content":{"rendered":"
<\/div>\n

Tom Sheehan<\/a><\/h2>\n

Poetry<\/h4>\n

<\/p>\n

\n

A Recall for Seamus Heaney<\/p>\n

I name myself
\nwalking through the house
\nbefore I get there.<\/p>\n

On birch floors my shoes
\nsound dull as wood pulses
\nan ancient drummer<\/p>\n

marked time with.
\nThese dead trees are full
\nof sassy talk.<\/p>\n

A stratum of air,
\ncorporeally chilled, moves
\na cubit wide in the kitchen,<\/p>\n

a polar exercise
\ntaking place.
\nI have been<\/p>\n

other places before,
\nbefore I got there:
\nbanging a curragh<\/p>\n

against the Atlantic
\nthe long watch
\nof a day,<\/p>\n

wind full of slam
\nand salt and voice
\nof the seal;<\/p>\n

blackening spuds
\nin a field fire,
\nchatting rain alive<\/p>\n

on slow coals of sticks
\nlike hiccups, hawthorns
\nfor roofing and stone<\/p>\n

markers for walls;
\npressed foul as fish
\nin subterranean passage<\/p>\n

with the metallic Atlantic
\ntelling me all its
\nold stories,<\/p>\n

icebergs and whales
\nand the loan sharks
\nwaiting in the new land;<\/p>\n

scavenging a city dump
\nfor furniture, books
\nand bedding,<\/p>\n

waging private wars
\nagainst prejudice, hunger,
\nRoscommon calling me home;<\/p>\n

this kitchen, now,
\ndark-cornered, remote, out
\nof which I walk toward myself.<\/p>\n

\"I<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
\n

Burial for Horsemen<\/p>\n

(For my father, blind too early.)<\/p>\n

The night we listened to an Oglala life
\non records, and shadows remembered
\ntheir routes up the railed stairway like
\na prairie presence, I stood at your bed<\/p>\n

counting the days you had conquered.
\nThe bottlecap moon clattered into your
\nroom in vagrant pieces\u2026jagged blades
\nneeding a strop or wheel for stabbing,<\/p>\n

great spearhead chips pale in falling,
\nnecks of smashed jars rasbora bright,
\nthin flaked edges tossing off the sun.
\nUnder burden of the dread collection,<\/p>\n

you sighed and turned in quilted repose
\nand rolled your hand in mine, searching
\nfor lighting only found in your memory.
\nIn moon\u2019s toss I saw the network of your<\/p>\n

brain struggling for my face the way you
\nlast saw it, a piece of light falling under
\nthe hooves of a thousand horse ponies,
\nnight campsites riding upward in flames,<\/p>\n

the skyline coming legendary.<\/p>\n

\"I<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

<\/div>\n
\n

Tom Sheehan <\/strong>is a prolific, award-winning writer and a great friend of Faith Hope & Fiction.<\/em> Among I walk Toward Myself,<\/em> his many accomplishments are: 33 Pushcart<\/em> Prize nominations, five Best of the Net<\/em> nomination (one winner), short story awards from Nazar Look <\/em>for 2012-2015, and a Georges Simenon Fiction Award. He has published 32 books and has four books in a publisher\u2019s production line.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Tom Sheehan Poetry<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"quote","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,48,1],"tags":[142,180],"class_list":["post-6528","post","type-post","status-publish","format-quote","hentry","category-poetry","category-tom-sheehan","category-uncategorized","tag-contemplative","tag-introspection","post_format-quote"],"yoast_head":"\nI Walk Toward Myself | Faith Hope & Fiction<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\""... Roscommon calling me home; this kitchen, now, dark-cornered, remote, out of which I walk toward myself." 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