In You I See by Pauline McNamee

In You I SeeIn red, pink and white geraniums
trailing from hanging baskets or
towering over bizzy lizzies in window boxes,
I see you smile, feel your hands root amongst the soil.

In pastel striped sheets hanging on the line
under a blue sky
beside starched white shirts,
I sense your spirit.

In the flasks of sugary tea and
slabs of soda bread you fed us
after mornings footing turf in the sun,
I taste your essence.

In the new potatoes and cabbage
picked fresh from the garden and
served with boiled bacon,
I smell your presence.

In the cups of cappuccino and
the slices of shop cake we shared
sitting at your kitchen table,
I hear your stories.

Cocooned in my car
outside the graveyard wall,
I strain to see as
your body is lowered into the ground.

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