A poem by Declan Ryan
Trinity Hospital
There was a gunboat on the river when you led me to your new favourite spot: a home for retired sailors; squat, white, stuccoed, with a golden bell.
It could have been a lost Greek chapel, a monument to light, designed to remind the old boys of their leave on Ionic shores among tobacco and fruit trees.
Just after rain, sunlight stood between us like a whitewashed wall. You were lit skin, gilt and honey, dressed in olive.
No paper trail connects us. No procedure of law would tell you where to stand in your sleek black mourning dress if I die
but as you turned towards me the golden bell rang to recognise that I, being of sound mind, will be delivered through orange groves to you, the white church of my days.
Declan Ryan
Listen to Declan Ryan read his poem (45:08)
More poems by Declan Ryan are available through his website.
Image: Trinity Hospital, Greenwich
