A poem from Sean O'Brien's ninth poetry collection, Europa, which is published on 19th April 2018.

You Are Now Entering Europa

The grass moves on the mass graves.
How many divisions has the grass
At this discreet perpetual exercise?

The fallen leaves are frozen now,
The windfalls bitter. No one writes
And I forget. I mark the days.

The grass moves on the mass graves.
I tell myself I have my work
When what I have is paper and a clock.

The grass is in the street, the street
Is at the door. I may not be disturbed,
You understand, I have my work,

So near to its conclusion now
That I will never finish it. The grass
Is at the door, is on the stairs,

Is in the room, my mouth, is me,
While I mark off the days and think
How blest I am, to have my work,

To tend the graveyard I become.