“How goes the night, boy?…” by Michael Hartnett
The night before Patricia’s funeral in 1951
I stayed up late talking to my father.
How goes the night, boy?
The moon is down:
Dark is the town
In this nightfall.
How goes the night, boy?
Soon is her funeral
Her small white burial.
She was my three-years child,
Her honey hair, her eyes
Small ovals of thrush-eggs.
How goes the night, boy?
It is late: lace
At the window
Blows back in the wind.
How goes the night, boy?
Oh, my poor white fawn!
How goes the night, boy?
It is dawn.
Michael Hartnett (1941-1999) is an award winning poet from County Limerick, Ireland. Poem courtesy of Niall Hartnett.
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