A list of last lines
SIOBHAN MARIE MEÏ
after Megan Gannon

and your smile made me ripple like a stone thrown in water.

and summer fell in warm rain over our cold hands.

and children fell in love with steel.

and deer jumped and ducked behind your eyes. 

and never stops falling, like water from the faucet.

and graves take the shapes of shadows.

and geese take off for somewhere beyond this jagged coast.

and the lake grows ice to hide herself. 

and I am yours because I promised to be.

and I am. 

and ruddy waters mirror damp pines, gulls gather like hands to warm flames.

and horseshoe crabs scuttle beneath pockets of seaweed.

and the black dog curls up by the fire, belly white, paws wet.

and thoughts flood me like the alewife run.

and memories jump in scaly slivers from my mind.

and discontent settles over homes like our first snow.

and corn husks on the back step. 

and you take me back, by the hand, by the neck, by the hair.

and I dream you over.

and your smile made me ripple like a stone thrown in water. 












SIOBHAN MARIE MEÏ is a poet and translator originally from midcoast Maine, now residing in Northampton, Massachusetts. Her translations have been published (or are forthcoming) in carte blanche and Transference. Siobhan is a writing instructor and a third-year doctoral student in Comparative Literature at the University of Massachusetts Amherst. She translates Haitian, Belgian, and French literatures and is currently co-translating a collection of poetry by North Korean defector Imu Baek. Translation has inspired Siobhan to resume writing her own poetry after many years hiatus.  
The Adirondack Review
FALL 2016