Thursday 23 November 2017

Father's Day View from Window with His Son

In our flat on the top of the house where we used to live when our children were young

The front window gave the best view;

For out there were the trees, the Square, the children playing, the neighbours starting up cars,

All life, you might say.

But then one afternoon, in the room at the back, the bedroom my wife and I shared,

Were my middle son and I, looking out the window,

He standing on a chair and me showing him the world from a new angle.

Look at all the roofs, Lewis, I said and he did

And I wondered did he see all the slants and slopes and tilts of slates shining in the sun,

All the oblongs and rectangles of the houses they rested upon

All the nursery rooms of dogs and cats and hobby-horses and humans

Stretching away up into Stillorgan, for it was a truly bocketty arrangement to look at.

And I'm sure he did but I didn't know what he saw

For after a few moments of silent looking, he started to cry

And turning to me, he said, through tears, dada,

why do I have to be with my friends all the times

they ask me and always have to be doing the things they want me to do

instead of sometimes being by myself.

And a whoosh of love sang through me

And I said, I understand why you're crying, pet.

And it was like it was my own thoughts,

Yes, Lewis, it was.

Leo Cullen

Sunday Independent

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