' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' My Mother's Hands(In Memory Of My Mother Ita Dempsey)


Your kiss

making the broken
eggshell of my mind

invisibly mend itself

a scrambled egg no longer

making the spilt milk
of my feelings

jump like an acrobat

back into the bottle

the shattered glass
stitch itself perfectly

(molecule) to(molecule)

until one
(with the naked eye)

the where or when or how
it had all fallen apart

your kiss

stuffing the stuffing
back into

the cuddly toy
my torn heart

the little stitches
looking like little x’s

x x
x x


they smile

your kiss dressing the world
in your laughter.



My mother’s hands

washing potatoes
washing kids
washing pans.

My mother’s hands
on bitterly cold days

pegging yet more washing
on a pregnant line

the line growing nothing but

her hands blind
with the cold.

My mother’s hands
ironing clothes
ironing clothes
ironing countless knickers
for my seven sisters.

My mother’s hands
taking my hands
in hers

such love...such laughter!

My mother’s hands
patting talcum powder

on another baby’s bum.

Mum being Mum.

Me, kissing

my mother’s hands
for all...they’ve done.

My Mother's Tears - A Haiku

Magpies and nappies
growing on the Winter line.
My Mam...tired...crying.

by Dónall Dempsey

Comments (1)

If I could vote ten times, I would give this work of love 100 each time, just so I could say you are, as we say over here, 'batting a 1,000! ' It just doesn't get any better than this. I know your heart breaks with missing her now...but what beauty has come from your pain.