Sunday 22 October 2017

I See You Dancing, Father

No sooner downstairs after the night's rest

And in the door

Then you started to dance a step

In the middle of the kitchen floor.

And as you danced

You whistled

You made your own music

Always in tune with yourself.

Well, nearly always, anyway

You're buried now

In Lislaughtan Abbey

And whenever I think of you

I go back beyond the old man

Mind and body broken

To find the unbroken man.

It is the moment before the dance begins,

Your lips are enjoying themselves

Whistling an air.

Whatever happens or cannot happen

In the time I have to spare

I see you dancing, father.

Sunday Independent

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