I Forget by Michael Healy

I Forget by Michael Healy

I forget image - specs

So what was it I had a mind to do?
So why is that shoe not fastened?
So what day is it, I wonder,
What month, what year?
It’s clear,
I forget

And yet I had so much in mind,
Amo, amas, amat, tan, cos and sine,
The formula for brine, a bouquet of fine wine,
Three times three makes…?
Three times three?
Three times three, it’s gone
Why is that shoe undone?
Where is my coat?

I must make a note to remind…
What was it I came to find?
So what day is it, I wonder?
Is it summer yet?
I forget.

Michael Healy

A Current State by Angela O’Connor

A Current State by Angela O’Connor

Incessant chirruping. Chirrup chirp chirrup. It is continuous, on and on. Under the eaves in the roof, the chirp, tweat, chirp bloody tweat! House Sparrows feeding their young.

I look out the studio window, the front garden is bathed in sunlight. Columbines swaying in the breeze with their coloured bonnets bowing. Foxgloves and Delphiniums majestically saluting the sun. A myriad of fruit trees swelling with goodness. Indeed, it is a splendid day with a musical accompaniment courtesy of my feathered tenants. I should be happy, I should , I want to be but am not.

Rather a feeling of an enormous obligation hangs over me like a dark cloud. A heavy thunderous cloud ready to pour down wet despair.

I cannot shake it off. I must visit her, I need to check her cupboards, I must do her laundry, I need to contact the doctor, pay her bills, cut her toe nails, clean the house etc etc etc.

My siblings don’t offer to help, “too busy” they say. Don’t argue, you have no energy !

“What about me , what about me!” I cry inwardly to myself.

Before work, during work and after work my aged mother is on my mind. Long gone are the wonderful times together filled with laughter and wicked humour. Now exists a shell of a person I do not recognise. Nor do I want to recognise.

Is it wrong to wish for someone’s death? Especially the person who brought you into this world.

My mind is like a soaked sponge, and not in the good way filled with knowledge! No it is saturated, exhausted and used up. Worn out. Bloody well worn out! I can’t take any more, truly .

The Sparrows have stopped, the sun has set and there is quiet outside. A stillness. Inside it is a different world. A cortex filled with angst and worry.

I’ll go to bed welcoming an alcohol induced sleep. My bedtime pal for the last six years! Tomorrow, another day they say, it may be different.

Morning light, a burgeoning day and it’s filled with bird song!