“You cannot see Him but He’s here” Crisp frost sparkles. She holds her father’s thumb, running to keep up, pavements ringing every step to the hallowed space, hushed, sunshine flushed through softly coloured panes: candlelight and flowers. “You cannot see Him but He’s here,” he says. She speaks to Him deeply from her heart. She had no doubts, she never felt coerced. ‘til time, passing like the traffic rumbled questions through her mind. It seemed interminable, the dryness. And then a quickening! - a warmth of gentleness Like a love-note slipped beneath her door, Paper thin like a butterfly’s wing thumb marked for her to seize or set aside with tenderness.
Jane Keenan has been writing poems from the age of six. On retiring, she enrolled for an MA in Creative Writing with the Open University, since when she joined with two of her colleagues/friends to publish Daughters of Thyme in aid of Médicins sans Frontières (www.dotipress.com).
Amethyst Review 