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Sean Joyce

(17 April Everyear / Galway, Ireland)

The Death Of Mr Healy


a man i never met
met his death
fishing in a storm
on a lake near
where i grew up

at the age of ten
i saw us drown
our trashing panic
killed a part of me

i felt our fear
our lungs loaded
struggling fright
our ears exploding

the lake was sixty
something deep
’high as our church
i saw us drown

past the windows
sinking down
Christ in Heaven
to the ground

sixty something i still mourn
the death of Mr Healy.
His death made death be.
The death of Mr Healy
killed a part of me.

Submitted: Tuesday, December 27, 2005
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Comments about this poem (The Death Of Mr Healy by Sean Joyce )

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  • Rene Bennett (2/25/2006 1:03:00 PM)

    Wow! Very intense and great write. Like you told a story. I look forward to reading more of your work.

    Rene' (Report) Reply

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