Knickerbocker: an ice-cream of a poem

Sometimes you meet a particular person that, ever after, makes you feel warm inside knowing that they’re out there somewhere in the world, being their fabulous, golden selves.

I read a post there a while ago, suggesting we write a poem about the incomparable icecream, the Knickerbocker Glory. I had the idea in the back of my mind, and the poem just jumped out of me as I was brushing my teeth.

This one is for Jane O’Sullivan. She’s one such fabulous, golden lady. I know her from various zine fairs here in Dublin. We sell our books, she sells her pieces, and when she and I meet once or twice a year it’s with great joy.

Knickerbocker

an ice-cream of a poem for Jane O’Sullivan

 

Jane,

I am not to be flippant,

or say silly things like

you’re the sweetness in my

Sunday.

I’m not to be funny,

or to pass remark or, worse,

be sentimental:

I’m just to say that

sometimes we have cherries,

Jane;

sometimes people carry

rainbows in their ribcages,

Jane;

sometimes it’s good to know

that now is enough, and now

is all the dessert we’ve been

waiting for.