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This poem is taken from PN Review 210, Volume 39 Number 4, March - April 2013.

'Lighthouse' and Other Poems Sinéad Morrissey
Lighthouse

My son's awake at ten, stretched out along
his bunk beneath the ceiling, wired and watchful.
The end of August. Already the high-flung
daylight sky of our Northern solstice dulls
earlier and earlier to a clouded bowl;
his Star of David lamp and plastic moon
have turned the dusk to dark outside his room.

Across the Lough, where ferries venture blithely
and once a cruise ship, massive as a palace,
inched its brilliant decks to open sea -
a lighthouse starts its own nightlong address
in fractured signalling: it blinks and bats
the swingball of its beam, then stands to catch,
then hurls it out again beyond its parallax.

He counts each creamy loop inside his head,
...


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