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A Father’s Lullaby
Oisín Breen


I went to the wrong funeral once.
Having begun the day arguing with my wife,
 
I said our child looked 
Like I will, in ten years:
            Too fragile 
            To survive. 
 
And he heard us shouting, too,
Though he was too young 
To understand. But his sister, 
Wrung by love-pangs, 
Prompted by her changing 
Too fast to cohere,
She heard us too, 
And she hid him.
 
            She hid him in her arms 
            And said hush. 
 
And I wished it were autumn 
And that she would soon hold me, too–
As one day she must–
Then, with finality, 
Her whispers could 
Bring an end 
To time.
Picture
Cynthia Yachtman, Hummingbird
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