When I was four I met my angel
Our game ending in shards of glass and bleeding wrists
Seeing you turn to ice for the first time hurt me
Like a child’s tongue sticking to the coldest ice pop
When I was eight you went away
Three weeks as Gaeilge in Connemara with friends
I was jealous of your freedom
But I missed you. Three weeks. An eternity
We drove to visit
And I remember your face watching us drive home without you
Eyes gripping tears like heavy bags above flushed cheeks
That night I slept in your empty bed
When I was twelve I joined your school
Like a lost child in the supermarket
It was your kingdom where even teachers bowed to your jokes
The big girls talked to me about you at hockey practice
When I was eighteen I had exams
Still a nervous teenager, studying was my excuse to be alone
One evening a knock on my door, “This is Claire” was all
And I already knew
This Christmas will see me twenty-seven
Our first without you
And I wonder will Mam still serve those mini pizzas
I won’t miss you now. Your angel has you.