I watch from the shelter of the doorway
as you start across the grass.
So slick and steady.
I can't believe the speed possessed
by one who set the bar so low for pace –
and I see you're not the only snail to escape
from the hotel they built with grubby little hands,
turning over stones and roots.
to find you resting in the leaves.
They moved you to your palace
but you sensed the rain. They did not know how to build a roof so, as the droplets fell,
you spilled towards the wall and the dry, dark
solace of the ledge. I applaud you: your dexterity as you checked out,
so much more determined than they knew.
Originally from Kent in the UK, Lucy Holme moved to Cork City, where she lives with her husband and three small children. In May 2020 she was shortlisted for the Ó Bhéal International Five Words Competition and five poems were featured in Poethead. She has recently had poems published in Porridge Magazine, La Piccioletta Barca, Burnt Breakfast Magazine, Opia Lit, Dreich and Tether's End magazine, and her work is forthcoming in The Honest Ulsterman. She is on Twitter here: @lucy_holme.