By Seamus Heaney
When all the others were away at Mass
I was all hers as we peeled potatoes.
They broke the silence, let fall one by one
like soldiers weeping off the soldering iron:
Cold comforts set between us, things to share
gleaming in a bucket of cold water.
And again let fall. Little pleasant splashes
From each others words would bring us to our senses.
So while the parish priest at her bedside
Went hammer and tongs at the prayers for the dying
And some were responding and some were crying
I remembered her head bent towards my head,
Her breath in mine, our fluent dipping knives
Never closer the whole rest of our lives
From New Selected Poems 1966-1978
Gemma Hill Writeyou Writeme 