‘Baby’ by Kathy D’Arcy

I drove through the night from the airport
so your sticky tears could salt the edges

of the hole in the family grave
(where my father, slipping, dropped the urn

aslant), grabbing and dropping keys,
laughing, our drunken festivities,

her drugged hand on my arm, the tape
he thought should be played

while we stood in line, looking at you,
laughing, grabbing and dropping keys. The sister

travelled home with the baby in a rucksack. The baby
travelled home in an airplane overnight. The father

was packed like a baby in a rucksack. The baby
won’t sleep until everyone arrives. My sister

is travelling home with the baby. The baby
is more than any other thing alive.

From issue #2: spring/summer 2016

About the Author
Kathy D’Arcy is a Cork poet and IRC doctoral student in Creative Writing in UCC. Her collections Encounter (Lapwing), and The Wild Pupil (Bradshaw) were published in 2010 and 2012 respectively.