Published September 15th, 2024
by Sinéad Kiernan
112, my fondest place,
Sparking my earliest memories,
Pick two things from the magic press –
We stuffed some in our mouths,
And pockets,
Before holding up two,
Thanking you and Granda,
Chocolate circles around our lips,
You took no notice.
A place I felt a blaze of warmth,
With my artwork on display by the fireplace
And in the spare room.
We savoured goodies forbidden in our house,
White batch bread, fizzys, and oven fries.
On our last weekend together,
He snuck down to the Ramble for one,
Don't tell Ma, back soon,
In his trench coat and tweed hat,
The pipe tipping off his
Few remaining black teeth,
He puffed,
I'm on the pocket alerter,
Pointing to the Nokia
Poking out of his breast pocket,
Which he barely knew how to use,
Despite my lessons.
Eleven years of age,
He called me his communications officer,
But it was I who told Nana
The following Tuesday
Of his secret pint,
Right after we touched his cold hands
And said our goodbyes.
About the Poet
Sinéad Kiernan resides in Malahide, County Dublin, Ireland.
Read the poet's biography on Sinéad Kiernan's Artist Page.
This poem is included in Comet #3,
published in the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
Previously published in Dublin Poetry Magazine:
The Fairies and Where to Find Them
by Dean Monaghan
Dublin Poetry Magazine is part of the Wax Poetry and Art Network.
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- Visit the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
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