RETURN AND NO BLAME Father of mine, Your sunny smile is a dandelion as I come once again through the door. Our fumbled embrace drives the wind off my shoulder And your eyes hold a question You will not put As I break bread at your table after the long seasons away from it. Father, my head is bursting with the things I've seen in this strange, big world. but I don't have the words to tell you nor the boldness to disrupt your gentle daily ways, so I am quiet while the rashers cook, nod and grin at any old thing. "Oh, the boat was grand, they took me in at Larne," "And a pity they didn't keep you. Must have been a gypsy slipped you in and I in a dead sleep one night." Didn't I rob you of your eyes, father, and her of her smile? No dark blood but the simple need to lose an uneasy love drove me down unknown roads Where they spoke in different tongues, drove me about this planet till I had of it and it of me what we needed of each other. Yes, father, I will have more tea and sit here quiet in this room of my childhood and watch while the flames flicker the story of our distance on the wall. -- Paula Meehan (contemp.)