On the very last note of the cadence
By Nithy Kasa
Read by Jade Jordan
the sky tumbled. It crumpled,
in the breaths of a noon turning to night.
Clouds spread on the streets like salts.
The paths of Temple Bar, that are paved
like burnt buns on blackened factory trays,
whited, like paper.
It was the formal call to mulled wines.
Throws with scents of loved ones.
Laughter in burning houses.
A darkness, affable, and vain.
Credits
Directed by Matthew Thompson.
From Palm Wine Tapper and the Boy at Jericho (Doire Press, 2022). Reproduced with permission of the poet.