It always seems to happen in an instant

Going about the ways and the waves of summer

And in the unfolding of just a day, there is change

The sun still beats and the hydrangeas wither and beg for mercy

On Friday afternoons, my first-grade teacher, Sr. Joseph Martin, would gather all 36 of us on the carpet while she lurched back and forth in her rocking chair and would tell us about the lives of the Saints.

Holy basil

incensing the kitchen

anointed hands tearing the leaves

sun and stars and moon and earth pulsing through the veins of each leaf

Bring the rocky cliffs of Skibereen and the long glances across the water and pondering of what it might be like to start anew

One of my earliest childhood memories involves playing hide-and-go-seek in a funeral parlor with my cousins. I remember hiding behind the Grandfather clock at the bottom of the stairs of Collins Funeral Home with my cousin while the sounds of chatter and people praying the rosary filled the air that distinctly smelled of lilies.