Pa & Molly

I remember past
St. Paddy's days
You'd whisper
'make a wish'
and pin shamrocks from home
to our lapels.

We'd have an early supper,
you firing turnips at our plates.
Pa'd sit quietly in his
window chair,
smoking camels, nodding,

Jack McCarthy's voice
echoed from the screen.
Swathed in green sweaters,
green shirts, we's watch
all day for the Kerry contingent
to march by
then roar 'Up the Kingdom'.

You sleep together still,
beneath a dual sunbleached headstone.

My brother Mike's beside me,
a single tear,
held back
sparkles in his eye.

We stand in stenciled sunlight
and scatter shamrocks
across your graves.

by Theresa Daly

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