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This poem is taken from PN Review 195, Volume 37 Number 1, September - October 2010.

Five Poems Tara Bergin

Red Flag

Once one of them showed me how to:
You turn this (the right) hand to grasp the stock.
You turn this (the left) hand to grasp the barrel.
He touched my knee,
and I hid my surprise –
but now he’s changed his tune.

36, 37, 38.9

I’ve a fever little sparrow, I am sick.
Their flag is flying red,
I can hear it from my window,
I hear it tattered like a torn red rag.
Go and get it little bird,
go and tell them danger! danger!

I will wear it as my Sunday Dress.
I’ll wear it walking on the moor
where they practise with their guns.

38.9, 37, 36

How ashamed they’ll be
...


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