It was where all of life’s

celebrations took place.

Where we took things

apart when our mother

was out of the house.


It was where one would find

string, rubber bands, matches,

washers, safety pins, sellotape,

batteries, bottle-openers, pencils.


It was where the visitors were

entertained; when the best sheet

In the house would be washed,

Ironed, creased and made to look

like the finest of Irish linen.


It was where there was full and

plenty, candles at Christmas,

and where the dog knew which

one of us sat too far away from it.


It was where letters were written,

bills opened. Where we

discussed politics and shared

news and views and stories.


It was where everything was put

before being placed on a shelf.


It’s where we'd hide from

household disputes and

tribunals in the sky but the

lightning always found us


It was where heavy heads in

cupped palms rested on elbows

when there was nothing else

to put there.