parents and poetry

Sceala Clann Counsellor Location: NZ

in memory of my mother. by patrick kavanagh

i do not think of you lying in the wet clay
of a monaghan graveyard, i see
you walking down a lane among the poplars
on your way to the station, or happily going to second mass on a summer sunday-
you meet me and you say:
'don't forget to see about the cattle-'
among your earthiest words the angels stray.
and i think of you walking along a headland
of green oats in june,
so full of repose, so rich with life-
and i see us meeting at the end of a town on a fair day by accident,
after the bargains are all made and we can walk
together through the shops and stalls and markets
free in the oriental streets of thought.
o you are not lying in the wet clay,
for it is harvest evening now and we
are piling up the ricks against the moonlight
and you smile up at us - eternally.

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parents and poetry