So thrilled that ROPES Literary Journal of Galway, Ireland has published my poem Our Father Who Art in Clifton, in their recent issue. I was invited to the launch and so would've loved another trip to Galway, I do consider it my other home, but it wasn't possible.
This 25th edition of ROPES is titled Silence and proceeds will aide Pieta House, an organization that focuses on prevention of suicide and self harm.
It is also a huge kick knowing that this issue is on sale at various stores throughout Galway that I have at one time or another shopped in, such as the oh so very wonderful bookstore, Charlie Byrne's. Charlies is a great place crammed full of books on various levels with comfy chairs scattered about where one can plop down and read away an afternoon. Something I did often while I studied at NUIG (National University Ireland Galway) in the summer of 2015.
Our Father Who Art in Clifton
Our father is dead, in yonder hospital bed
Pale skinned Irishman, cooling while
the pizza warms in the oven
We ordered a thick crust just after he left us
(Watching parents die is exhausting)
thinking we’d have more time
Before the funeral home staff arrived
Banging at the door
Hello? Is anyone there?
I hear the extra cheese bubbling so please
Could we have a moment to eat
to drink, to think
It’s not like he’s going anywhere
Quiet and no longer alert he, basically a dirty
Footed man who worked menial jobs for menial
Pay yet kept the bellies of six pumpkins full
Go away hearse, we’ve changed our minds
Our Father’s first limo ride can wait
There is one more meal to share
Let us break apart the triangular pieces of heart
An offering to the man who baked bread
For our suppers, remained faithful to our mother
Who God knows, was no Clara Bernhardt