He was always a postman called Dinny, in a scratchy, serge, shiny-buttoned suit – An oxtered cap lined with snotty avocado. Delivering the village’s One O’Clock News, to a headscarfed hausfrau with a five o’clock shadow. Cochlea cocked for the prompt, from his 10 years old understudy in flares and Fairisle in the front row. … Read more
In the turning of the calendar, the final quarter’s here. A time to lift our voices high, to finish strong this year. For growth is built in moments – small steps that shape our way and progress is the promise that we honour day by day. As new committees gather, with fresh vision in their … Read more
The old man with no name is arm deep in a Dublin City bin. Scavenging for cast-off Coke cans and bendy bottles for a paltry return. Oblivious to the street’s soundtrack of shrieking seagulls and ear-piercing pedestrians, he marshals his shopping trolley and the vestiges of his dignity, towards bountiful bin bags hopefully. Christina Hession
Pogoing to Dearg Doom at the junior disco, you suggest taking a breather. Blaming your Aran jumper, but I know what you’re really up to, when you sneak a snaky arm around my shoulder. My first kiss – your brace bumping against my teeth, a tangle of tongues. We come up for air, and wonder … Read more