*
In Thurles a couple pushing a buggy , a man on his knees , lost in the sacrament of trimming his front hedge and sweeping the trimmings with his kitchen brush , stopped to cross themselves .
Motorists switched off engines in the street and went on about their errands only after the inevitable , polished so they could see themselves in it , had passed .
*
“ Is M _______ home ? Tell her not to come . I don ’ t want her to see me like this .”
*
Searching for ways to be kind we offer ice , water from a straw . John brushes your hair . I recall your father in his Sunday clothes ,
milking by hand , the white arc of warm milk in the byre dark entering our mouths , across the yard from the house you were born in .
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