Sloe Gin
By Seamus Heaney
The clear weather of juniper
darkened into winter.
She fed gin to sloes
and sealed the glass container.
When I unscrewed it
I smelled the disturbed
tart stillness of a bush
rising through the pantry.
When I poured it
it had a cutting edge
and flamed
like Betelguese.
I drink to you
in smoke-mirled, blue-black
polished sloes, savage
and reliable.
Copyright © by the owner.
