This poem is taken from Stand 227, 18(3) September - November 2020.

Natalie Crick Three Poems
After G by Bernard O’Donoghue

After her Father left me when she was young
I nursed her to her current decline, her sickled smile.
I read to her, held her hand, told her and told her,
before I named her. When her grievance became terminal,
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