As all others slept, she was ours
and we were hers.
As we sat and chattered to break the silence
of the morning,
the grumble of the kettle in counterpoint
to the sharp exclaim which signalled
Breakfast. When chatter gave way to
companionable silence and only the chink
of a cup to bring us to our senses.
All 3 heads bent together.
So while the priest, who had not known you,
Spake long and loud with too much
pomp and nothing of your humour.
While others shook our hands and exclaimed
“So sorry for your loss.”
I thought of Breakfast
and remembered 3 heads bent together
with the chink of a cup
to bring us to our senses.
Charlotte Keane
Charlotte Keane is a poet living in London with her husband Luke and part time cat. She has worked in television, animal rescue, and as an animal trainer. She has been writing for years and is currently preparing her first poetry collection. When not at her day job or writing she loves to spend time in the Ox Mountains, Sligo with her family. Her poetry often reflects the spirit of the mountains and the loughs and is heavily influenced by nature.