Poetry by Irish poet Michael O'Dea. (poems © Michael O’Dea, Dedalus Press, Amastra-n-Galar, Lapwing Publications)
Never been so aware of the lungs as bellows;
how basic it becomes when, in dying,
one is reduced to breathing and we are
watching each breath
like you are lifting shovel-fulls
and so alone in the effort
and we so useless.