Our Garden Ghost

The fruits of Love are lush, sweet, tender, plump.
Ripe, Ready with rainbow flesh
Romance lacing the air…
The fruits are filled with juice, the midnight trees a muse
The Summer breeze a fuse,

All is possible now
The homestead still in bloom
As final Surrender fills the rooms…
Of pure potential…

My mother digs the earth and waters orange lillies,
Yellow Lemon snap-dragons, purple sweet pea
and pale english rose
My father’s presence observing her work,
Admiring the wild array and abundant colour.
His echoes in the rooms upstairs…
My Father’s voice saying: “What a smashing day!”
Gorging pineapple, strawberries, blueberries,
and grapefruit.
Playing football with my beloved brothers in the park…
Discussing the journey and the pathways,
Singing old songs with older meanings –
Meaning Love, Kindness and Kin.
Cracking jokes and doing family impressions.
Aunty Patricia for tea and eating cakes in the sunshine.

My father’s ghost digging the fecund soil
and planting fresh seeds…
Evening heat and birdsong at dawn
Changing beliefs and always a return
To The One.

The fruits of Summer are love of life.
sunshine smiles and brazen heart.
bright opening chats and late night talks
Sleepy Sundays and raw cliff walks…
The new earth gives birth to dreams
As old as eons, as we believe…
All is possible through Summer eyes.

Aoibheann Doyle
To my Family, July 2013