A House In Mayo Poem by David Cooke

So long abandoned, their house and garden
lay caged in the tangle of briars. As a child
I looked for secrets, creating new lives
each visit from what they had left behind -

a cartwheel found in a shed with scraps
of chains and leather: disused tackle
they'd handled. One gable down completely,
I pictured thatch that the wind had blown.

And rain had weathered that house till it showed
a harsh perfection the owners did not see.
Around it their ordered plot ran wild
in a furious zone of growth and process.

Drawn to that absence, I explored it all
and forced a way through where tall weeds struggled
against me: the tough bright heads of ragwort
alive each summer in a haze of midges.

Empty houses were scars on the landscape.
Wild seeds blew in to heal them. When people
vanished, the tracks they had made were smothered.
Returning, all I ever found were mine.