Donnacha

Four Aprils old

His heart knows

Only joy

Proud and brave

He stands up straight

In uniform

My girl intent

Upon his lunchbox

Putting in

Taking out

Balancing . . .

Her eyelids not quite dry

I look at her

She looks at him

He waves at me

We spin in a ring of love

And recognise the day

Of separation

A poem for “My Girl”

The music filled the room

We pushed the table back

Stacked the chairs and

Formed a ring to watch

My daughter dance

Spangled eyes alight

With joy of movement

She whirled, birled

Arms and legs abandoned

And while she whirled she changed

Grew, evolved, emerged

A stranger unconnected

All her own self, on her own

Future firing headlong

Detached from my detaining hands

The beat drummed louder

Finished and the stranger sank

Triumphant, flushed and

Laughing, enjoying our applause

Turned to me for confirmation

My girl again

But never quite the same.