Tipperary Girl

Parts of me knew that she was dead

my legs, that now buckled as I walked to the kettle

my stomach that lurched inside me, a storm-tossed ship

my hands, sometimes violently trembling

knew, they knew

 

but my mind, that cursed thing, delighted

in tricking my naïve, gullible heart

each day

during the search

that grey and pointless search

 

her fourteen years, sometimes a sky of laughter

a chainmail cloak of joy, then

sometimes, finding her caught in brambles of torment

beyond my reach, immune to my words

 

eight days to find her

that phone call, silence first, then

three words, “we found her”, and I

crippled by the intonation

 

the day after

the sun rose

though I was sure it wouldn’t