Clements (Stranmillis) - (translation)

From Cuaderno de Belfast - Dublín

on the floor
tiles laid
shattered under our feet

coffee becomes rain
when we cross every doorway
and you smile behind your face

it was a time, that time,
when a scone
could be something other than mirage
       
         (not that there is no depth in mirrors)

butter melted
like fog on the pavement
and lips on your chest

then, that time
when a scone
was something other than a bun

         (may Marcel forgive me)

milk came in jugs
and sugar in rock lumps
smiles awaited

pavements dampened
with newspaper sheets
and blurred calendars

it was a time, that time,
when a scone
could be hope and time