Legend

by Tim Dooley

All stories have some truth at heart, she said
thinking of the story told in the church
across the way from the pub in that far
village they’d reached across headlands, shaky
cliff paths, stone stiles and easy–giving mud.
The small black–painted chair with a sylkie
carved along one side inspired the tale of
Matthew the boy whose treble held the breath

of Sunday folk and even caught the ear
of the fish–tailed girl from the cove below
who keened along with him until he found
her hiding place and swam with her into
the open sea. What sort of truth is that?
It is the heart’s truth that such stories have.