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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 9, Number 4, December 2015


Amanda Bell
Dublin, Ireland

The Return

Before it joins the Owendoher, the Whitechurch Stream weaves through woodland paths in St Enda’s Park, its pools lined with yellow sand irresistible to bare feet. I spent many afternoons paddling there with my brother and boy cousins. Armed with green-mesh nets on bamboo poles, we filled old marmalade jars with pinkeens, minnows which, like the globs of frogspawn we collected, were so much more interesting than goldfish. I’m not sure how long any of them survived on our suburban windowsills: perhaps our mothers brought them back to release them when we were safely in school.

these golden grains—
where does the water bear them
from the riverbed?

Twenty years later my young cousin returned to the park, and ended his life there. His ashes are interred in the cemetery a little further upstream.

sunlight refracts
as it enters the water—
small fish shimmer



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