An Sciathán #4 by Emma McKervey

An Sciathán

It can be considered odd that the Irish language

has no word for hand or foot;  these appendages,

as we see them, are part of the linguistic flow of arm and leg

and the words themselves seem supple and warm,

suggestive of the dexterity of the limbs as a whole;

undisjointed, unsegmented and all to a singular purpose.

In Ulster Irish there is a different word for arm (and hand)

which translates most easily as ‘wing’.

This may explain the hunch in my shoulders here in the North,

the roil of blade and faint domino click of vertebrae

when trying to rotate the ball in its socket.

The feathers grow inwards, abstruse quills prickle beneath the skin

so when we talk and my arms wave to ballast my point

I cannot suddenly rise up – fly away.