Eavan Boland's visions of Dublin

THE SCAR

Dawn on the river.

Dublin rises out of what reflects it.

Anna Liffey

looks to the east, to the sea,

her profile carved out by the light

on the old Carlisle bridge

I was five when a piece of glass

cut my head and left a scar.

Afterwards my skin felt different.

And still does on these autumn days when

the mist hides the city

from the Liffey.

The Liffey hides

the long ships, the muskets and the burning domes.

Everything but this momentary place. And those

versions of the Irish rain

which change the features

of a granite face.

If colony is a wound what will heal it?

After such injuries

what difference do we feel?

No answer in the air,

on the water, in the distance.

And yet

Emblem of this old,

torn and traded city,

altered by its river, its weather,

I turn to you as if there were.

One flawed head towards another.

This poem is one of five selected from Eavan Boland's new collection A Poet's Dublin, with photographs by the author. Published by carcanet Press.

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