Inishmore

Yes, he said, hold your hand flat
like that, he said. It was late

afternoon on the island, and
my husband cut open the apple.

The day was seasalt and rock
walls, wind in the whinbush.

What I remember is more felt
than seen, the brush of his mouth,

the horse delicate, taking it, watching
as he cut another. I was never

more in love with him than then.