A Memory Part II – The Father
By Veronica Byrne
I could not go see you on Christmas Day
Not on that Day!
To see you lying there on that excuse for a bed
with presents scattered hopelessly around you
not a hint of merriment, forced smiles
and unbearable sadness, lost hope,
no hint of Glad Tidings!
I could not bring to that scene
memories from times past
as we sat by the fire, drinking tea
the wireless broadcasting a carol service from the Cathedral gallery
you getting ready for Midnight Mass
topcoat on and shoes polished
fixing your hair in the looking glass
No! You will stay safely with me, as you were
locked in my memories of Christmas cheer
of holly and berries, of frost and fir
of three wise men and the Northern star
of parcels in twine coming by post
cards on string, and smiles to make the most of it
the yard to be done, but not on this morn
Not on the day that the Lord was born
Photo credit: Evgeni Tcherkasski
Capella
By Veronica Byrne
The moon is out, the heavens are clear
Celestial bodies bear down light through years
night years, light years, empty years
reaching Earth spent and done
An echo, a memory of what once was
a fire ignited in the heavens above
the birth and death of a Celestial God
Photo credit: Rebeca G. Sendroiu
A Memory
By Veronica Byrne
My grandmother washed the potatoes in a bucket outside the back-kitchen door
Using the handle of the sweeping brush she swirled them around in the grey water until it turned a rusty
Brown
The misshapen potatoes recently plucked from the ground, let go of their cloaks of clay
Revealing a pinkish hue like a newborn’s skin on a fine September day
My grandmother lifted the zinc bucket
a weight in an eighty-year old’s hands
and discarded the water
black and used, down the outside drain
My grandmother tall and thin with hair silver and long
Took her baptized fare inside before the Angelus rang