The Radiographer

Hear the buzzhum to catch those ghostly shadows

Like a perfume plume
you arrived in the world one Bloomsday –
a button-nosed blonde with a mind of her own.

You slept in a bed for a crib
drank Coca Cola not infant milk
had a candour at three that was unparalleled

broke news of death with a jolt of coldness
opened doors to poets in Decembers
with Too late! They’re dead!

You ate your meals with a mermaid’s dingo hopper
watched horrors each night before bed
attuned yourself to the earth’s core

listened for each murmur, focused on each movement.
Your acuteness
lived up to every meaning of your name

Katie: frank and scientific.
You netted each prize throughout school
engineered a loop road to ease congestion

created flow in one direction
found the radix of each problem
like Röntgen, produced, detected and saw through.

(Poetry Ireland Review, Issue 122, 2017)