Bernadette Ni Riada
Suddenly, One Summer
A black shoelace, tied to a nail in the wall behind the door, loops over a brass-coloured knob, holds the door open. She is sitting in the brown armchair. Her head leaning toward her right shoulder, her eyes closed. I sit on the chair beside hers and wait. She yawns, rubs her eyes, smiles as she pushes strands of snow-white hair toward the bun at the nape of her neck. She asks how I’m getting on in school and if my homework is done. I remind her—like I did yesterday and the day before—that I’m on holidays until the end of summer.
I cross the room, stand in front of the pine dresser, its top shelves packed with a collection of figurines and other ornaments, several teapots shaped like boots and cottages. Her children send her these from places like New York, Boston, London. The snow globes are her favourite. These are kept together on the bottom shelf, well within my reach. Inside each glass dome a miniature image of a famous landmark. I look toward the hearth. Her hands are resting on her lap, her head against the chair back. She is smiling, watching me.
One by one I pick up the snow globes and shake them vigorously. A shower of white specs gushes up through the liquid. I continue shaking each one, to keep it snowing.
Finally I stop, watch the white specs swirl and drift downwards to stillness.
I look at her. She has fallen asleep.
a dawning
one white lily
in a glass dome
About the Author
Bernadette Ni Riada is a native of (and lives in) County Kerry, Ireland, Her main genre of writing is poetry, and her work has appeared in Poetry Ireland Review, Still In The Dreaming (anthology), A New Ulster, Ireland’s Eye, Poetry Breakfast, River Poets Journal, The Haibun Journal, Kokako, and Drifting Sands, among others. She has frequently read her work on her local radio station, Radio Kerry