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  • DS Maolalai

The seabird


By DS Maolalai



like waking up to light

on the inside of a ping-pong ball;

clouds have settled gently

and spread through dublin

streets. I open out

our double doors

and look down

on the river, stretching,

drinking heat up

from my coffee.


it's early – 8 on Saturday

and mine the only

occupied balcony.

around, the sky scatters salt

and a fresh pepper of seabirds.

the dock gates

open; high tide turns.

we're on a swelling

estuary. the scum

is up against

the quays.


I am a seabird

perched on the lee

of a cliffside.

I drink my coffee, hear you

behind me breaking

eggs.