7 days in her November Garden
Listen to a reading of this poem by Noelle:
Seek out bare root specimens. A bit close to the bone. She avoids her reflection when possible but there’s that mirror in the hall, placed to add depth, it’s long statement unavoidable. Her eyes look in disgust at her leggings, oversized top and her wilder-than-ever mane; her wisps of grey over the ears and a white streak, as though she had spray painted the canvas of her scalp. Bare roots. No need to seek them out! They seemed to glow in the dark. Tresses she always took pride in, styled and groomed, now met with her despair. Her weekly blow-dry in Anne’s salon that gave her curls a sophisticated look went out the window with lockdown. Quite the specimen, she muttered. A phrase used all those years ago by Sr. Bernardine, when she wanted you reduced to a speck on the end of her fiery tongue. A speck of a specimen, now that rings nicely. More than a speck though, the daily fallout tracing its own topography on her pillow. And when she washes, whorls cling to the shower outlet, her hands shaping them into her own art installation. Day 1: with her index finger she shapes a circle that curls into an apple onto the wet tiles. Stepping out, with a glance back she sees a face, a face with no eyes, nose or mouth; Featureless and blank. She opts to label it an apple—Appleopecia. Day 2: a tangible intangible on the shower tile with her middle finger. A tear drop? Quotation mark? Leaving the strands to dry, she likes the curves—Untangled Day 3: a full moon, her dark hair encircling its ceramic sheen—Snow Moon Day 4: an abstract bundle, electric with her distraction clings to itself, to her fingers, too many for her liking—Bare Roots Day 5: her shrivelling art catches the sun in lifeless reminders of what she avoids—Still Life Day 6: she gathers all and weighs them. They are weightless—Weight of Loss Day 7: apple, tear drop, moon skin and wired ends—side by side, she frames them, cushioned with cotton wool—Play on Hair She takes to her bed, abandoning all to her November garden. Come April, her downy specimen lines a willow warbler’s nest.
Wet my Lips
Listen to a reading of this poem by Noelle:
Up the mountains, in Mijas, at the corner table of El Capricho, I sit with the quail. Or rather it sits on my plate ready to meet my stomach. The censorship of my eyes sees an unease stir in the region of my gut. The perfection of her succulent chest, clipped wings tucked either side, the symmetry of my waiting mouthfuls from the curve of her thighs has my heart ache— yet my mouth waters. Enhanced by the sauce, the stuffing, the knowing smile on the face of the maitre d’, I raise my knife. I recall my mother’s voice on those days I’d play with slivers of liver on my plate, or refuse to wet my lips with the island of a runny yolk, my fork in a stance of reluctance. Don’t waste good food. And so it happens, Codornices a la Española is added to my list of teenage adventures: escargots, cuisses de grenouilles and this frail game. The aftertaste of my guilty pleasure lingers. I imagine the quailsong haunts me too— The male notes render as wet my lips.
Broken Lives
Listen to a reading of this poem by Noelle:
From the cesspit,
chipped &
cracked
an egg cup reveals itself, a treasure of delicate china,
&
yellow
like the yolks
once contained in
long discarded
shells
&
not what one would expect
in the excavation of a workhouse yard.
Among the detritus
preserved translucence,
a shock of colour
scattered in found shards
of everyday crockery.
When the creviced dirt is brushed away
a
hollowed bowl
realigns with
the light
of day,
&
somehow
there
is a prescription
for healing
& perhaps
repair.
Noelle Lynskey, poet, mother and pharmacist, completed her MA (Creative Writing) in U.L (2022). Selected as Strokestown’s Poet Laureate in 2021, Noelle launched her first poetry collection Featherweight (Arlen House) in May 2025. With multiple awards and readings behind her, Noelle’s work appears in numerous anthologies and on radio and in 2025 new work was published in Sunday Miscellany 2023-2025 (New Island), Poetry Ireland Review, Belfast Review and Crannóg. She facilitates Portumna Pen Pushers and is artistic adviser to Shorelines Arts Festival. In Autumn 2025, she was awarded a Galway Co Council residency at Interface, Connemara