We were all still living at home then,
In the house with the fancy grilles
And the tall iron gates that let us out
Gliding to business and back at night for our tea.
We rose one morning to find the garden
Drifted and crisped with stiff white feathers.
They shone bluish against the red brick walls,
As they shifted and settled in the draught from the street.
We were not shocked at all until the next day
When the aerial photographs were published
Showing the house that backed against ours
But looked away across the Avenue
Visited the same, its roof and courtyards
Blessed with angeldown and cobalt shadows.
The tenants had my grandfather’s name.
I went on my bicycle to see Father Deveney
In his room in the old priests’ home.
We sat at the window looking towards Mount Desert
And he ate sweets and told me he remembered
When that house too had been part of his parish.
But he had never been told my aunt’s story
About all the trouble over building the party wall.