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

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
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).