Ciara MacLaverty was born in Belfast and has lived in Scotland for most of her life, where she studied Arts at Glasgow University. She has had ME from the age of 18. Her short stories have appeared in New Writing Scotland and several magazines. ‘Seats for Landing’ (Dreadful Night Press 2005) from which these poems are taken, is her first poetry collection. To order 'Seats for Landing' from Ciara's official website, click here

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SELECTED POETRY

by
Ciara MacLaverty

86

Ma’s mother and sister both died at 86.
On her 86th birthday Ma said,
‘I’m getting to that dangerous age now.’
She’d been in a home for five years,
eating and sleeping – ever declining
Bingo and Daniel O’Donnell.

For my memento
I chose two toy kittens in a basket,
so arrestingly real
I thought they were mice in my case.
She stroked them in the home,
believing them alive.
‘My wee boys are just sleeping the day,’ she said,
‘just sleeping’.

© Ciara MacLaverty

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ISLAND DROWNING

You were the first death I ever shook hands with:
a practice death to toughen me up;
a shock, a punch in the gut,
and for months afterwards
I’d dream you’d arrive at school assemblies
to incredulous applause:
It’s Fergus! He’s survived! A miracle after all…
but we were both fifteen
and I hardly knew you at all.

That never stopped us French kissing though.
It was the mistletoe rule of the school Christmas dance;
strict and unbroken. You were shorter than me
and your lips were soft and full,
like segments of Satsuma;
your freckles still visible in the disco lights.
Later, you told the other boys I bit you.
They sang the music from Jaws
when I walked the corridor.
I was strong enough to carry the infamy;
able to forgive you
your Dastardly and Mutley laugh.

On the homeward ferry we heard
your boat was missing; the sea slate calm,
a July sky slung low with aluminium rain clouds.
Did you have a lifejacket on?
I prayed for a tangerine dot
on an isolated rock,
the helicopter’s rope drop.

We were back at school when your body washed up
on the beach where we swam the week before.
We said little but secretly wondered
what state you were in;
exhaled relief
that we were not the ones to find you.
There were whispers of fish scarring your skin,
kissing at your eyes
and your lips, soft and chilled.

© Ciara MacLaverty

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NON-SPECIFIC GUILT

Riding our bikes down
the empty ribbon
of island road
tearing through
wind and sun and space,
we looked back
and caught the glint
of the police car
a mile behind.

Quick! We dragged our bikes
into the ditch
panting, crouching low
til the patrol car passed.
We must have been
doing something wrong.
We just didn’t know what.

© Ciara MacLaverty

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FANCY PANTS

You used to linger by our bedroom door
(holding on to the handle as if holding a hand)
while my other sister and I got ready to go out
and Sting sang don’t stand so close to me.

‘Where did you get your top?’
Your child’s body swayed with the question.
‘In a shop.’
‘Was it Top Shop?’
‘Maybe.’

Our mum bought you toy jewellery from the Co-op:
sparkly, pink beads and matching bracelet
in cellophaned cardboard.
We called you Fancy Pants.
We denounced your jewellery as
plasticky rubbish and Co-op version:
PR and CV.

Today you work in Press Relations.
When I see you among the crowd in the foyer
there is a half second when I think
Who’s that beautiful girl?
before neurones kick into recognition.
You’re wearing a black trouser suit, holding a clipboard.
You look radiant, capable,
throwing your head back in a laugh.

Sometimes when I see you,
I feel I am the girl at the bedroom door.
I want to ask ‘Where did you get your top?’
Occasionally I do, but more often
I’ll stop and marvel at you,
as if you were my own child,
as if you grew up without me noticing.

© Ciara MacLaverty

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OUT OF SIGHT

The best thing
you do for me
is to let me
be as I am
(better than
I do for myself,
I add)

and when necessary
you meet my
what if it doesn’ts
with a
what if it does…

You teach me
more than you know –
only I don’t always
tell you so.

I love to laugh with you.
I love it when we
gang-up on the world
and laugh it out of sight

© Ciara MacLaverty

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