Gran’s Biscuit Tin – Gaynor Kane

Borrowed from a cousin
hoping to add colourful leaves
to a bare tree, on the base,
Inglis Bakery claims creation;
a family bakery, bred locally.

Perhaps the crumbs
of the biscuits, eaten long ago,
dusted the lips, on faces
now nestled within
the tarnished silver lining.

Its sides are speckled
with rust, like the age spots
on her hands,
now passed away,
dots un-joined.

Lid trimmed at the edges
with dry, cracked, tape
curling like Autumn
leaves, in sepia hues,
as the photos within.

and topped with a scene,
not chocolate box cottage,
but a fishing village,
reminiscent of Clovelly,
Lynmouth or Hope Cove.

I look to the postcards
inside, try to find
a connection, discover
one from my Father,
a young man, on honeymoon.

They travelled to Dun Laoghaire,
not Devon, and from their room
in the Carney Arms
they watched snow,
falling like confetti,

become blurred with white sails
and sea spray in the bay.
I trace the signature,
follow the fancy scroll
of his T and V.

From my desk, it has watched
seasons pass by, old friends.
Now and then, I leaf
through the contents
hoping to put names to faces.

Examine expressions,
noses and chins, for family
similarities, then rescan
the back, still longing
for a lightly leaded name.

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GAYNOR KANE lives in Belfast, Northern Ireland. Mainly a writer of poetry, she has had work published in the Galway Review, Boyne Berries, Atrium Poetry, Light Journal and other journals in the UK, Ireland and America. In 2016, Gaynor was a finalist in the annual Funeral Services NI poetry competition.


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