To Séan. A poem by Ann Quinn

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,
without scrutinising
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.


  1. Beautifully touching

  2. Thank you, Ann. So much.

  3. That’s lovely Ann – well done 🙂

  4. Lovely indeed. Very touching.

  5. You didn’t tell us what to think, but put us in the experience of your flooding memories & single thought.

    Thank you, Ann.

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