Pól Ó Lorcáin
Paul Larkin

Chroniclers are privileged to enter where they list, to come and go through keyholes, to ride upon the wind, to overcome in their soarings up and down, all obstacles of distance, time and place.
Charles Dickens - Barnaby Rudge, Chapter The Ninth

The match, the plaster and the immortal. Good Friday 09

Comhrá le mo athair mór síoraigh Tomás Ó Lorcáin, an Aoine a chéasadh Críost - 09

A conversation with my immortal grandfather Thomas Larkin on the day of Christ’s passion - 09

The match, the plaster and the immortal.

The ritual never deviates.
Thomas Larkin sits and contemplates
Before making his point.

Leaning back with an easy sigh
The wide wings of the sagging armchair
Still alive, embracing him.

My grandfather bathed in beatific light
Beneath the living room window
An aura of all that we were, are and will be.

For this is not science,
The meeting of emotions
Being far too exact for that.
Love’s dialectic soars and swoops
Between our dreams and existential fact.

The frame of his wise spectacles
Is held together by airfix glue
And scrupulous first aid plasters.

He lifts the side of his glasses
The better to light his cigarette.
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