Emma Brennan

These early apples are tasting sweeter than they should.
Prematurely plucked from curling barks and entwining limbs,
they’ll soon be caught in the nettled tarp
with a sting that’s sweeter too
and sweeter still, from the hand of Eve.
The cut nailed serpent, housing barley in their bed.
They’ve been measuring magic potions among their good graces.
Three, to be exact.
Our tail bones have bruised the sun riddled steps,
willing the birds to bathe.
Instead, they mock me from my lemon room.
I can feel their bitter call through adjoining walls.
That flirtatious scent of peat lined water
is calling upon a five side field,
where the fruits roll towards the home road
a blade of grass, out of reach.

At Milford house there was the nude, truly. In every sense.
Embraced by the breeze, absorbing the sultry mid Summer sun, this was a space for me to
occupy the stillness, silence, the blankness of time.
This space was a gift, very much appreciated. Even more so was the deeply intense
connections with all the occupants, humans and animals alike. With myself too. I’ll carry this
throughout what I hope is a long and full life and artistic practice.

Emma Brenna was here as part of the Oppression & Compression Residency

Funded by an Arts Act Grant From Tipperary Arts Office