Ann Dinan's Writings
HAVE YOU SEEN YOUR MOTHER, BABY, STANDING IN THE SHADOWS My Aunt Jane is preaching the Good News in Hyde Park with warnings of the second coming while Uncle Mathew wanders the house dreaming of oblivion. Cousin Harry has a shop in Carnaby Street selling afghan jackets that smell of dead goats on hot June days. And I’m peeling my wits in Soho. Money, enough...
Daytime stars fall whitely Handy with death In this blank afternoon of cricket bats Where a bow-shaped row of dark trees Breaks the view of distances To Nilgiri Hills Blue as Irish forget-me-nots Time downfurls pain To a fat-...