 |
| chores of morning |
Cutting zinnias in the early heat,
Celtic music and air conditioning
buoying me through the tasks of morning,
when here comes her ghost again.
This is what it's like to be Irish.
She could not speak, but if she could
I do not think she would have said
anything about death being part of life,
still surprised by facing the finish so soon.
No, I think she would've said, perhaps,
I love you, Dad, as she did the night
before as I left intensive care,
But she could not speak
she was just sleeping and then
she died and then
something I had never seen before
left her and I could see that it
was gone and I look even now
and I can't see it anywhere
and I had never seen it before
it was gone from my daughter's face.
The music is beautiful and sad.
The day is hot and passing.
Cut zinnias last as long
as any of us can expect.
—with lines by Shane McCrae
