Bells And Tea Poem by Francie Lynch

Early September smells
Of the familiar:
Pungent socks on hissing rads,
Cuffed wellingtons
Strewn on cloak-room floors.
Mine have my initials
In bold red letters;
Peanut butter and oranges
Douse the old rooms,
And Quick swirls in fruit jars.

Home for lunch,
Mammy serves plates
Of beans and bread
To the middle of the table,
Where she'll sit, mug in hand,
After whisking us out the door.

I knew she sat there,
Thinking of her
Lost children, buried
In another land
Never to be revisited.
No desire to.

Her kettle clouds the kitchen.
From the vapor she heard,
'Bye Mammy, '
One last time.

Tomorrow, the bells
Ring again.
I'll sit with the kettle
And school days'
And life's
History lessons.