for National Poetry Day on October 2nd

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When his mother died, Seamus Heaney

wrote a poem about folding a sheet with her.

 

So many days I have lifted sheets

from the line with my own mother.

 

She taught me the way of folding.

Together we would dance to and fro,

 

handing the cloth to her as she made

the final fold, a pat and sigh,

 

that slight smile to meet my eye,

then on to the next.

 

I never wanted it to end.

 

 

poem and photograph Rose Cook