precious Corkonian objects brought back to the lowly lowlands of the Curragh.
All the blackberries that ever were
bursting with sunshine & childhood
jumping into the jar for her as if it were an honour.
They & I transformed by her
love & lovely laughter
cake baked with smiles & chuckles
winks & singings.
Me on her knee...tiny being kissed to bits.
Me being devoured by an enormous hug
smothered in bosoms the many many yellow flowers on her purple pinny.
Her blowing my curls out of the way so that her smile could kiss me
more & more...er!
Me unable to comprehend anything of her Cork accent.
Me saying “Yes..? ” & “No..? ” in all the wrong hilarious places
(to my great embarrassment & her great amusement)
her breath tickling my cheek telling me she loved me...loved me...
& that I looked so good
she could “...ate ya! ”
Love as visible as the flour
in the air in our hair.
(* Homely little terms! A little jug of milk and a little cake in the palm of your hand.)
A cístín baise is a little cake made on the side of the griddle especially for the child...eh...“helping” with the baking.
This was written for my Aunt Mary who passed away recently leaving me with nothing but the memory of her love...her all abiding love...that not even her death can diminish. I simply adored her.
The Cork accent is like fast fluent French cross pollinated with sing- song Welsh...almost impossible to understand unless you are immersed in it for a couple of months! But of course she would also play with me and make up a whole lot of what they call in Cork... “glig glag”...silly talk.