Easter
rising from your low stool
at the window you
brushed your hair
with the silver-plated brush
long-handled, the one
given at your christening
with matching mirror you sat
at the window for the light
was better there
my grandmother was
the bullet whipped
through the open casement
from the street (name it) below
the Easter Rising
though you didn’t know it
then
at the back of the room
you were just 16 in 1916
Dublin, on your own
you got the train down
from the North yourself
digs in central Dublin, a teacher
training college, Blessed Virgin
I have asked for many favours
(name it)
recite three times, publish,
never known to fail
where the bullet stopped
2016 almost
Easter
I sit on a high stool
at the window in the Linenhall
to trawl through old news
papers online
(I only know the year)
there it is in black
and white your name
for the first time I know
and write
your name (name it).