Letting Her Go

by Bernie Cullen

I am the pigeon on the red roof, next
to the lead coloured cupola of the mosque,
beside the off-white wall of shadows in Sarajevo.

I am the woman in the hotel room
watching the pigeon on the red
roof of the shrill café, next to the matted
lead-grey of the cupola of the mosque,
beside the off-white wall of shadows in Sarajevo.

I am the girl lying in the tight-white sheets
watching light spin from the hair of the mother
who leans to follow the pigeon fly the red
roof of the busy café, climbing the oily blue
clouds sliding behind the cupola of the mosque,
beside the off-white wall of shadows in Sarajevo.

I am the bruised surrender on the eyelids
of the girl sleeping under a sharp-creased
peace, love crying from tender finger ends
to the stilled lips and the low bend
of the woman at the window waiting,
unsteadied, to wake the still-girl sleeping
leaving pigeons to fly the red roof
of the dull café, to the molten metal grey
clouds above the off-white wall of shadows,
on the last day.