The irony of spring and its tiny fingers, of lapwings,
rain showers, diamonds on the pane, the irony of light
through cloud, through curtains, through speckles
in an eye, the irony of postcards, the time it took to frame
them, of dusting, bin day, of a short walk to see the trees,
the irony of my favourite oak, how its shadow spreads,
the irony of chips and teatime and tomato sauce, the irony
of the earth’s four corners and its horsemen, leaping out
as the sermon drones on, my choirgirl’s ruff suddenly tight,
and afterwards, in the graveyard, of my dad, strong and handsome,
aged 40, telling me it’s just a story, everything’s going to be alright.
Catherine Ayres lives and works in Northumberland. Her collection Amazon is published by Indigo Dreams. She is currently researching Roman women for a creative writing PhD at Northumbria University.