Home Movies Poem by Francie Lynch

I hear a disembodied voice,
It doesn't sound like mine.
I hear it in home movies,
We hear it all the time.
A voice over voice,
Narrating your lifetime
From Summer to Spring
Dancing, playing,
Standing, speaking,
Praying.

I filmed you blowing candles,
Unwrapping Christmas joys,
On celluloid in Mother's arms,
With girlfriends and with boys.
You're sitting on your Granda's knee,
Granny's there too pouring tea.
There's cousins, sisters, aunts and uncles,
Everyone's filmed with your cuddles.
That's you on stage,
On the field,
In a rage,
Or a cartwheel.

Then you're singing,
Packing, leaving.

For thirty years
You've been my focus,
Never out of frame;
Never blurred,
Never obscured,
My eye was on the game.

Years ahead,
When I'm dead,
You will watch these too;
But you may wonder
As you view,
I hear his voice,
But where
Are you?