At 14

What you left us all was mystery.

Disbelief by the sea.

So many strange introductions.

A church bell with no answer.

A packed church without a clue.

A priest in a hurry.

A blank sermon unmemorable as most.

Prayers no-one could believe in.

Your  second-year classmates

An uncomfortable off-key choir.

A closed coffin.

A hotel reception,

Soup or melon,

Then beef or chicken,

Or quiche for the vegetarians,

A sweet, coffee,

And an afternoon of beer

And light-hearted mourning.

Retreating waves gently pulsing

An electric lawnmower droning all day In the background.

Your mother gave a speech of thanks

Though her made up face was melting.

Your father pissed was shaking strangers

Hands and smiling.

Everyone agreeing it was less

Like a funeral than a wedding.

A day out by the sea in May,

Till the engine spluttered down and  died.

And what were we left  with,

Your sister’s black-clad friends, five college transients,

Walking back along the shore from the hotel

To  the bus-stop for Cork?

The tide far out into the Atlantic distance,

The sun’s fierce orb strangled at the horizon,

Fierce light splintered in the rock-pools,

Fierce light shining through the cracks in the world.