Pocket Memories

I delve their pockets after they are gone, picking amongst the memories, connecting, collecting, brooding magpies - departing flights of encounters, sorrows, joys, secrets, girls and boys, picking only at the gleaming silver and gold bits, not too subtly, ignoring sensibilities, after all, their souls have passed on, no need any more for worldly goods, irresponsible, unfettered by their possessions, perhaps for the first time, free of our lives, the necessary cars, and houses, shoes and shirts, free at last, unashamed, unshod, sliding down the slope, laughing, exuberant laughing, gaire gan naire, ahhhhhh , such life among the dead, and we the living, half-dead, weary, tied, anchored, backward-looking, blinkered, treading, unthreading, the way they went, we with them …and them, shuffling in their useless shirts and shoes, polaroids of their fading existence, Zimmer-frame moments in the minutia of time, not in context, accordioned with cacophonous neaaaah!!, unlike the sweet sounds of their melodies, picked from the concerto of their lives, staccato, notes to remember, sneaky tears, salty, unbidden, savour the repeating chorus, we in harmony with them, duets, solos, whole choirs, occasionally, the tune, one of their’s, bittersweet, a requiem, celebrated, tearfully, my hand’s eyes delving the pockets of their times, the flavours of their sense, scents, fidget, rifle in their surprises, odd moments, uncular, aternal, fingering the worry beads, hankies, keys, bulls-eyes, pennies, half-pennies, half-crowns, cinema ticket, cigarette butts, whistle, matches, watch, pieces of twine, binding my memories inexorably in the allergic ravel of life’s bale, stacked with the others now in the big barn, some sprouting now, signs of re-awakening, phoenixed from the ashes, renewal in our lives, the odd look, the smile, a mannerism, wave of hand, a laugh, a phrase, disconnected, from another source, yours, theirs’ who knows, a hint though, however fleeting, a memory, of them, for yes, that is them, silently rattling the change in their pockets, keeping their promise, always, a wrapped toffee, a suckie sweet, kept only for you, by them, for later, for love.


In Memoriam - Michael Bourke, Kilkee

Brian Nolan - February 4th 2007