My Little Numero Uno(For Lyn) Poem by Dónall Dempsey

She attacks the page
with all the fervour & ferocity

of learning to write:
! nUmBeRs!

Her pen
digs its way

through to
(the other page)

as if it were trying to
escape its task

make a break
for it.

Finally, she draws
a 2

a gentle swan
gliding by on a single wave.

Then, an 8
(which she informs me)

is an O
“...wearing a belt that’s too tight.”

“Right? ”
“Right! ”

6 & 9
she cuddles together.

“Shhh...they’re sleeping! ”

Then: a 3
“...which is an 8 with half the 8
...missing.”

Then: a 1
which is a man
“.. with a little nose.”

Then: a 7
Which is a man
“...with a big nose.”

10
is
“The man with the little nose
going out with an eight without its belt.”

5
is
“Like a S
frozen stiff.”

4
is
“My hand doesn’t like writing 4’s
so...it doesn’t.!

'Well, that's
enough of that! '

She glares at me
as if to say

'Don't dare
contradict me! '

'I'm going out
to play!

She proudly
announces

(a woman with her work
well done) .

And out...
...out she goes!


*******

Being with Tilly as she gathered the world to her and her attempts to make the meaning of it mean something was one of the great delights of my life. It was like evavesdropping on God whilst he made the universe. I used to love to travel across the wild and wonderful emotional landscape of who she was and who she was becoming.