It was a day at the end
of summer, I remember,
an ordinary dark day
when, leaning casually
over the wall that faces
out to sea, my father,
though not much given
to abstract thought
and not a natural comedian,
with comic grace
introduced me
to the philosophy
of disillusion. Looking out
across the bay
with a sigh of resignation,
he said: “Son, if
you can’t see St John’s Point,
it’s a sign
that rain has already started.
If you can
see it, it’s a sign that it’s
about to rain!”
Paul Murray is author of several collections, including These Black Stars (Dedalus Press, 2003) and Light At The Torn Horizon (Word on Fire, 2022)
of summer, I remember,
an ordinary dark day
when, leaning casually
over the wall that faces
out to sea, my father,
though not much given
to abstract thought
and not a natural comedian,
with comic grace
introduced me
to the philosophy
of disillusion. Looking out
across the bay
with a sigh of resignation,
he said: “Son, if
you can’t see St John’s Point,
it’s a sign
that rain has already started.
If you can
see it, it’s a sign that it’s
about to rain!”
Paul Murray is author of several collections, including These Black Stars (Dedalus Press, 2003) and Light At The Torn Horizon (Word on Fire, 2022)
