Anne Casey
The grandmother ever at my shoulder
What harm another little nub of butter?
A pinch of sage would lift the whole thing
Navigating the gaps as nimbly now as she did
In her dimly-lit kitchen with its three trip-up steps to sprinkle and stir
Her jealous Jack Russell and I always lapping at her feet
My grandfather appearing out of thin air, his fine white hair backlit
A smear of engine grease across his forehead
Cutting through the seasoned haze with its air of industry
My mother and her Irish twin hovering together
Inseparable after birth, throughout their lives
Between death and life, and forever after
Their baby sister borne between them
Whose tiny feet never touched the ground
For as long as they both had lived
In every sunset, a swell of light to lift
You away out of the falling day
And carry you through the dark
These ghosts I wear
Who bear
Me up
