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All night Tippi and I lie with our armswrapped around each otherlike rope.I bury my face in her neckand she wakes every now and thento kiss the top of my head
I have been here once before – It was a long time ago, I don't remember when.But as my father handed me the axe-headImages exploded in my brain.
He was seven and I was six, my Brendon Gallacher.He was Irish and I was Scottish, my Brendon Gallacher.His father was in prison; he was a cat burglar.
Nell drives and we don’t speak.
Every limb is numb
My mind is racing
and then slow.
Kicking the pebbles along Eastbourne beach
as the orange-pink of sunset
plays with the ebbing tide,
my mother asks…
Tippi can't stand clowns.Dragon is terrified of cockroachesand Mom of mice.Dad pretends to be fearless,though I've seen him flinch when the mail arrives
I have your smile
when I look in the mirror I see you
I have your laugh
So when I chuckle I hear you
I have your humour
when I’m sharing jokes I owe it to you
Billy chased me round the playgroundwith hands full of fists
Billy yelled at me across the football pitchwith a mouth full of stings.
When Harry went awayhe stole a part of Mum.No-one warned us. No-one said.We looked and looked for ages –
It's New Year, 1979, at Funderland in the RDS in Dublin. In the cold calculation of the January air, a young girl tries to talk
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