who sang and played for the dancing The more feverish she gets the more she slips into this shadow world where the Irish are the kings Where you can sing the old songs and dance the jigs and reels without without fear of prison She tells her wild tales over and again until she’s worn out Do something I said to Kathleen If it were a wound she’d have her needle and thread out like a shot There’s nothing she can’t mend in the way of cloth Stitched the brothers back together more than once she has There’s nothing to do but pray she said She counted out the rosary on a knotted string I said my prayers already counted them out on my fingers ten times over Maybe God can’t hear me for the coughing I can’t bear it a moment longer I won’t Granny needs food Real food I find the galley steps in the dark and tiptoe onto the deck After the hold fresh air is as sweet as clean water I creep across the deck in darkness The crew eats better than us If I could get to their stores Granny would get stronger She’s had nothing but moldy bread and shriveled potatoes I tiptoe along the rail to the galley door Not a sound comes from inside 3
The food is in the brig under lock and chain The shadows in the passageway give me cover A single single lamp swings above Casks and chests are stacked shoulder high I run to the brig turn sideways breathe all the way out and slide through the bars My shirt tears and a bit of my skin but I’m inside The smell of food a whole roomful it almost brings me to my knees More food in this one spot than I’ve seen in a lifetime For a moment I take a notion of cracking open the barrels and feasting like a lord But I know better I only need a little Something to bring a dash of color to Granny’s face A morsel of anything that will give her the strength to stand I duck down and worm my way through the barrels A musty smell betrays which ones hold the rations they’ve been feeding the passengers Smaller casks of rum and salt beef and smoked fish are off to one side I can only dream of such rich fare Granny’d never be able to eat them sick as she is There’s a rime of mold on a great wheel of cheese and firkins of butter nailed shut too tight for me to open Barrels of flour and salt are no good to me but in the back I smell something sweet something I haven’t smelled in so long that I almost can’t place it I tiptoe to the back and pry up the lid 4
Apples There was an apple tree by the crossroads where Kathleen and I took school in secret The tree had apples of gold with red speckles great drooping drooping branches full of fruit Now Kathleen’s a proper scholar and would have walked across an ocean of fire for school But me Well sometimes I’d just go for those golden apples And I’d bring them home by the armload for Ma and Granny and all my brothers I stick my head right into the barrel and breathe in the sweet tang of the fruit Sometimes when Packy or Christy found work they brought home flour Sometimes John did the lord’s milking and churning churning and got a portion of butter for pay Then we’d have bread and apples for dinner instead of potatoes Didn’t I feel like a king on those days If Da had still been with us I wouldn’t have had a sorrow in the world I reach in and draw out an apple My hand shakes and my mouth waters as I tuck it away in my coat pocket I should go I should creep away back to Granny I’ve got what she needs but I haven’t had an apple in a year It’s been nothing but ship’s rations and workhouse gruel and whatever we could beg on the road The barrel calls to me again My apple 5
is red and wrinkled I should put it back but I tell myself I’ll just smell it The trouble with hunger is that when there isn’t any food at all you can tell yourself you don’t need any and half-believe it But as soon as the smallest morsel goes in your mouth hunger wakes up in you like a wild creature I sink my teeth into the apple and feel the burst of tart sweetness like a bolt of lightning that dazzles your eye and leaves you blind I bite and chew and gasp licking the streams of juice that run down my chin The honey goodness of it fills me up Without thinking I start doing the shuffle-hops of the light jig just for the joy of having food in my mouth Aye who’s there comes a gruff voice from the passage I freeze apple juice running down my chin Show yourself A sailor brings the lantern to the door of the brig He’s broad-shouldered and black as a bottle of ink He rattles the chain I silently slide to the floor There is a long pause My heartbeat can be heard from one end of the ship to the other I’m sure of it The man gives the nearest barrels a shake Rats scatter when I shake the barrels 6
