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previously published in   Entering the Tapestry

and  Dancing at the Crossroads



As for words, he used so few

that his past was a high stone wall

leading down to the strand

and the smell of the sea

where fishermen never learned to swim.


He listened to a man from Wicklow play

runaway notes on his fiddle

in Camden Town or Kilburn

where the air was stale

in bars that were not home.


When my fatherís largeness left him

he went looking for a place to die

within walking distance of the sea

and the shadow of mountains

he could put a name to.


Jo Roach


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 podcast - Jo Roach reading Life Lines -

and in the shop...
pamphlets -
"To Darn, To Mend,
To Interweave",
Thamesis Publications;

"Dancing at the Crossroads",
Hearing Eye


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