Stroke

Stroke Ireland to America, long ago In this Kerryman’s eyes you can still see big ships sail and lighthouses flicker light years away. He’s 70 today and sits tombstone straight in his caneback chair. He waves at the flake hanging from his nose, misses and curses. It’s his first curse of the day and he’s ready now for anything, an ancient ram braced for the British climbing through the mist. His children, parents themselves now, sit in his parlor, silent around him. When they hear that first curse, they know it’s 20 years earlier and Father is calling a big meeting of the Family. They shift in their chairs as his eyes and his words whiz around the room like bees liquored up looking for something to sink into. Donal Mahoney