DATE: 12 September, 2024
We are pleased to present our Autumn Blog, with a selection of new and familiar voices. There will be new posts Thursday and Sunday – with apologies for the lateness of this post due to technical difficulties.
First up, we have a writer and editor from Galway with a fantastic poem about the price of the male gaze in the modern world. Any more words from us would be a spoiler – so let's just dive right in...
POETRY
TARA O'MALLEY
Inexorable
after Layli Long Soldier
I’m sorry but he’s walking down the 6:45 bus aisle headphones on weight of the world on his shoulders looking at me like he knows me from somewhere;
I’m sorry but he taps me on the shoulder once he sits down and I nearly spill scalding tea across my lap and he laughs with no apology;
I’m sorry but he knows my name I don’t know his and I laugh at his jokes with enough sarcasm that maybe he will get the hint but he doesn’t and every time I turn away he calls me again and pokes my shoulder so I move to face him in the seat behind;
I’m sorry but my leg is cramping my head is hurting and he is complaining about nothing at all just to keep my attention until he leaves and it is all spewing out in a white-hot mess and I cannot bear the sound of it;
I’m sorry but he’s not the only one after a breakup and he’s not the only one hurting but he’s the only one who wants to be here and he’s the only one not seething;
I’m sorry but it is now 8:08 in the morning and he is gone satisfied and I have a sick churning in my stomach;
I’m sorry but it is months since and I have not seen him and the relief is immense lighter than air;
I’m sorry but I thought that was it and he finds me at my workplace and I never told him where I worked and he stares at my chest more than he looks me in the eye and honestly the normality of that is lemon rind on my tongue;
I’m sorry but I see him every day I work and I swallow my words and smile and pretend nothing is wrong when all I want is to get away from him get someone else to serve him;
I’m sorry but I say no and he takes it to mean confident playing hard to get and maybe one day I can pull you for myself when I figure out how to and maybe my sarcasm is flirting to him and my smiles interest to him and maybe I just have a mask that is thick enough to fool him into thinking we are on the same page when I can’t even see his chapter;
I’m sorry but I answer his messages ever the fool and he tells me what he would do to me ever the romantic when the door is closed and no one else can see and it should not be a surprise but it is and I’m speechless you always hear these stories and the warnings from the women in your life but then suddenly it is you that has to confront it and it is not just an old wives’ tale anymore it is real life;
I’m sorry but his sexual fantasies were never my business never my dream to fulfil never something I wanted to know and he thrust them upon me;
I’m sorry but when I speak to other girls they all echo the same story the same disgust the same fear of being followed or touched or taken and we all remain silent and smile and keep living while the bile builds and builds with every whistle and laugh and grab;
I’m sorry but he still comes in and he still grins with a ‘hey O’Malley, hey buddy’ and I can’t look him in the eye in case the hatred vomits out of me in a downfall that will cost me my job and him nothing at all;
I’m sorry but I am not sorry I am done being polite and nice and womanly I am done listening I am done answering I am done –
‘Hi, how are you. What can I get for you?’
AUTHOR BIO
Tara O'Malley is a writer from Galway, Ireland. She currently works as a librarian and as a member of the editorial team for Ragaire Literary Magazine. Her work has previously been published in Paper Lanterns, Tír na nÓg Magazine, ROPES Literary Journal and other publications.
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