Meg Tyler
Docent

the Ulster Museum, Belfast, 2014

The first thing I saw
          was a woman blown high
                    by a blast.
Then he led me towards an open

mouth, the colors smeared,
          the no sound that came out,
                    receding but registered.
Le Brocquy, whose brush

insists on features
          that peel away.
                    that make the self give way,
to another shore of

being. Far from here, an abandoned island,
          segmented by crumbling
                    stone walls. Gerard Dillon’s house.
Three donkeys, painted sheep, even a naked

woman rising from the sea. The waves
          were quiet, not crashing, the only
                    sound from the outboard motor
of the two men who knew where we were.

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