Doubled Over
(For Auntie Ellen)

Childhood would have been halved

without her

in the velvet dark of the cinema

perched on the edge of our seats

fistfuls of popcorn frozen in the air

as we watched, unblinking

small aliens

enormous explosions

cars chasing

buildings falling

twice, if we wanted to

 

she would take us to Burgerland on O’Connell Street

long since gone

and we would gorge on milkshakes and

chips and

chips and

chips

and salt, so much salt

and I remember those nights

perched on the edge of the bed

doubled over

trying to burst the ball of pain in my stomach

happy

 

I watch her now with my daughter

the eighty years between them

nothing

the light

just the same