Bray Harbour April 2006

As today is mothers day, I've spent some time thinking about my dear departed Mam. I wrote this poem about 6 weeks after my mother, Frances Kerrigan, passed away and to be honest , like the rest of my poetry, I have been reluctant to share it with the world. 

As my little tribute to her, I've decided that even though my poetry skills are not up to scratch, I'll send this one forth.

  My father had told me about the day he had taken my terminally ill mother out of hospital, St. Vincents Private Hospital, Dublin  for a little trip just for a change of scenery and to give her some fresh air. My parents were very, very close and often took trips together. This was to be their last and as I sat on the harbour wall in Bray, Co. Wicklow, I tried to picture the scene and to imagine how they were both feeling.........

Bray Harbour April 2006

Bray Harbour, April in the year of her Lord 2006

Blue skies spattered with wispy clouds

Small boat leans low in the tide

Yachts stand proud out of the water

Ropes clanking against masts in the gentle breeze

Idle chatter from two fishermen unsure if the catch will match their efforts

The chatter surely is more worthwhile

They watch uninterested as she is helped from the car

Wanting to run to the edge of the pier

Wrapped against the chill she smiles open-eyed

The swans gather around expectantly

She laughs as they give her their full attention

The odd duck mingled amongst them drawn to her

Watery eyes look out to sea, the same sea she grew up with

The memories mingled with the dreams and the wishes

Her childhood in Dun Laoghaire just north of here

Runs through her weakening mind

Seeming more real than her reality

The future for her is now no more

Clouds gather on the horizon appearing over Bray Head

Announcing a change, a turn for the worst

He takes her arm gently to return to the car

No not yet she implores turning to the swans to say farewell

Puzzling at how this can be possible

Hoping that it’s not so but resigned that it is

Slowly she turns toward him accepting that it’s time to go home

With an aching heart and a trembling hand he guides her to her seat

His spirit broken as she waves to the swans and the ducks

Alan Kerrigan

21/06/2006