The Cat’s Ramble to the Slack
It’s that Birdy O’Brien wan
Her an’ her cats an’ they wanderin’
everywhere on their rambles
An’ leavin’ their doin’s for others to deal with
I’ll run them. I’ll give them slack an’ I can tell yeh.
That we should now remember.
Mae, least educated, least likely to say anything worth remembering.
Pride was it, thinking we had all the words, all the wise sayings.
It took us a lifetime of learning to know that everyone
has something worth saying, worth hearing, worth remembering.
Now, what did you say?
Remembering Mae Swords giving out yards about Birdy O’Brien,
a next door neighbour, and her cats rambles to the slack, Mae’s slack,
which Mae had to clean up before using the slack on the fire, still grumbling.
The Cat’s Ramble to the Slack *Number 2
For Mary (Mae) Swords
It’s an Echo
of a different voice, of other words coming back
Something that was said once, then often
It’s a Wave
Fetching over space and time
To crash, gently, littoraly, as on a beach
It’s a Ripple
In the energy of life, a blip that bleeps
Down the years, repeating, repeating
It’s a Memory
In the lore of family, a legendary phrase,
Said unwittingly, unintentionally, by a kind unlettered lady
A throwaway remark, thrown away.
A phrase, travelling through time
Crashing on this shore, falling on this page, living again
As if from her lips, hearing her voice again.
A Memory, a Thought, an Echo
A life remembered in an unexpected way.
A cat taking a shit in a coal bunker?