Sean Walsh

I live in Dublin, Ireland. Sometimes. Most times I live in my head, quite unaware of my surroundings – if you know what I mean… If you succeed in tracking Sean Walsh, please let me know, ok? I've been searching for him for years…

New Leaf

Published on Friday 23rd August 2013 by Sean Walsh

 

                                      C B S                                               

Dundalk, Co Louth, Ireland.

                                                                    Circa 1944.

 

 I was still in my first pair of long trousers

when a priest from the Redempt’rists

came to give us the School Retreat

at the start of Lent:

thunder and lightning the first half –

you could hear a pin drop –

a loving, merciful God, the second…

(Francie Muldoon hasn’t cursed since

and Gerry Crosby broke it off

with Philomena Farrell…)

And I went to him for confession:

it was behind a screen in a classroom in the Primary.

Afraid of me life I was

but he wasn’t the same a tall

as when we were all together in the Hall

and he was telling us from the stage

that it only took one mortal sin…

So I was a new pin coming away…

Though I thought my turn would never come –

the lad before me was in with him for ages,

whatever was going on…

By the end of the three days I didn’t know myself.

Walking on air I was on the way home

through the town – dark, rainswept, dismal –

but how was I to know? Wasn’t I in Heaven!

One hand in a coat pocket, fingering the beads

and me singing me heart out but so low

no one could hear –

 

Heart of Jesus, Heart of Jesus,

Burning with love for me

inflame my heart, inflame my heart

with love… with love of Thee…

And he did, to be sure he did! Inflame my heart.

Burnt into my very soul. Lifted, I was. On fire!

A flame – oh, a furnace!

And then… Then?.. Ah-hh… Adolescence.

 

 

 

 

 

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