Monthly Archives: November 2012

Poem

Poetry is such an odd thing. It can feel entirely inaccessible, almost foreign, and then at other times the words a person has put together seem to fit perfectly. The poem is illuminating. It burrows into you and creates a … Continue reading

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Frances

Nanny changed when her husband died. A woman who’d never walked when she could run suddenly seemed different, though at twelve I didn’t really understand how. It was as though Pop’s death had surprised her into noticing her life, and looking … Continue reading

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What Became of the People We Used to Be

On Saturday I went to Inis Bearachain in Conamara with my sisters, their husbands, two small people and a friend whose father came from the island. We were going to visit a very particular art exhibition as part of Tulca, … Continue reading

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On Looking Up

On a grey Sunday in early November I finally dug out the last of my potatoes. They were beautiful – big, pink oblongs of luscious spud buried in the incredible soil I’d bought from a company in Donegal at the … Continue reading

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