Only because my memories are raw
The first taste of starvation
In those days folk walked in line
Family seniority and all that
Raw memory waking up to a raw hunger
Then the church cold with people whispering prayers
Whisper whistles sound muted by Latin words
I always wore a winter coat
Gazing at men with fat faces- plate handlers
They stern and very serious
So they took the plates full of cash from nosey kids
A few ten bob notes and Cathleen Ni Houlihan pounds
Consulting as they passed the confessionals
Wearing Roman uniforms as if their suits were dated
There was comfort though
In the march to communion
When pews exploded with perfume
Whilst hats paraded with fervent folk they hissing like cats
The wafer bread sticks to the roof of my mouth
Is it sin to touch it or remove it- prise it away swallow it down
The priest watches whilst the altar boy rings a time bell
I know it will be bright when we leave
We will march up the street by the wasteground
On down by the Piggers and home
Here the world changes and females take charge
The sizzle of bacon and sausage hot succulent
To seal a raw tummy and nourish the truth
The church bells ring calling others to choir duty
Am I the only one to have changed
What sacred lure caught me
Dangling within the remit of rebellious saints
And those voices carried
To caress the sweet lips hanging on the wall
Those raw words that split atoms and air
Leaving me forever with only touch
