For Eithne

Stencils of black, maroon and gold -those Chinese girls on the tea caddy sat perched beside our range. You and me, we said, as we waited for supper; studying satin robes and ways of being beyond the village moulds. Which you, which me? Pale brows, becalmed mouths, hooded eyes fixed like our own, on hidden futures. We argued. Eldest has first pick, I said, choosing the prettier. Back then I never doubted my entitlement.

Today the etching has gaps, one girl quite faded away -so many years of wetted tea! Your impatient voice is silent. My chances of convincing you – of anything – have slipped away. And when it comes to the framework of our childhood you can't correct me any more -not on dates, times, colours or places. I'm on my own.

Máiríde Woods writes poetry and short stories. Her work has appeared in anthologies and reviews. She has won two Hennessy Awards and the Francis McManus Short Story Award. Three of her poetry collections have been published by Astrolabe, including A Constant Elsewhere of the Mind in 2017