Beneath a Cliff
- sanchopanzalit
- Oct 14
- 1 min read
George Ryan
They were next door neighbors on Long Island,
had gone to Catholic school together
and all their days had heard about Ireland.
They bought air tickets on Saint Patrick’s Day
and on a cloudless afternoon clambered
among the rock pools beneath a tall cliff
on the other side of the Atlantic.
The waves were small and they did not notice
the tide come in until the pools began
to fill. The way they had come was flooded.
Only gulls and seals knew where they were now.
They phoned for help. The cliff face blocked their calls
on the landward side. One phoned her mother
over the ocean and said now that she
knew she was going to die, she could feel
sorry for the trouble she had caused and
hoped to be remembered fondly after.
Her mother was concerned that she was drunk.
Joe is on shore leave in San Diego,
her mother said, and as a navy man
he’ll know what to do. She phoned him. He phoned
the Irish navy. Two women beneath
a cliff, the tide incoming. No problem.
The seawater was now above their knees.
They waved to the helicopter. Both pilots
were handsome and no older than they were.
One said, I heard your mother found you here.
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