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Helen Burke (Guest Writer)

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Miss Lettice

(on Dad's anniversary - for Dad)

She was French , he thinks. Maybe , French.
And the cracks he got from her, he still remembers.
Hands like a man – but herself the size of a small bird.
And what were the cracks for ? I ask...
That he cannot say.
For being poor mebbe – for having no shoes. For being
Gypsy Irish , for being alive. He ent sure.
But the cracks – the cracks , they were big and loud
Like thunder and spilled lightening coming from her hand
Across the head , the arm – anywhere there's land.
Who did she go home to – with her sharp red hands .. I want
To know. Need to know.
Bunking off to go to the cinema , you suddenly recall – with a
Penny begged from Uncle Anthony. Went to see the Fall
Of the House of Usher and the Monkeys Paw. Must have
Been fifty kids or more – all sat on the floor – some screaming
And some laughing . Me, I was watching, the big screen.
Couldn't believe there was somewhere where they all had
Shoes – somewhere that beautiful. Called America.

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