There will come a time when my heart is less heavy,
when your name can be spoken without sadness,
When I can pick up that
ginger duck recipe I taught you
without being sidetracked by your beaming grin of accomplishment,
When I can let some grey-haired, bespectacled fella, clutching
his tiny grandson’s hand,
board the Luas
and not rush up to them.
There will come a day when
I can have a chat with your son,
your spit and spirit,
his every twitch and expression for signs of you.
When your bonhomie
will fill the room just by memory
and I can see the kitchen dresser
without your elbow resting there.
This vicious virus stole you without even a ransom note.