To Think
IRA Victim
A second splits befor the bullet
Enters the brain
Exploding in the mind
Like the shattering of a window
or a waterfall crashing on rocks

In that split second
He heard his wife putting the peas on to boil,
Saw his children arrive home from school
And throw their coats down in the hall
Just as he had told them not to.
He smelt the dew-scented roses
colouring his garden,
And the rosehip wine
He had bottled last summer
He thought of his mother,
Just visiting her neighbour
For a cup of tea,
As she did every afternoon,
And of the tapestry his daughter was making.
And just befor the bullet splintered his skull
And dropped him into the past tense,
He thought of his slaughterers

The sun shone down on Belfast that day,
Herding black-bodied flies
Around the sticky blood
Spilt like mild on the pavement.
And it's no use crying over split milk.

by Siobhan Aiton, 14