Seasons slipped by after the roars stopped                     from their engines Now grown to adults, their small cars                     silent and dusty Were stored, garaged in boxes, then offered                     without warranty or service Spread to the next generation of tiny drivers                     to sweetly purr, once again With mouth engines, pursuing space-aged                              adventures                              speeding to wondrous places As we served our new adults, one by one                              their big cars, then There were no little cars, Until seasons later one reappeared on the floor                     a survivor, green, still shiny On a Saturday morning, I nearly stepped on its roof                     while the grandchild slept,                                      the car Stared up at me, between our bed and the bath.                     Then more were sighted, Sightings that shot back my old fear                     with increasing speed Of that dread sound, the crunch underfoot                              in the dark, then Submitting my plea, not guilty, in the morning                     to a wee judge large with tears In my losing case of the squashed dream car                     illegally parked, of course But clearly, and rightfully on its way to somewhere. Reprinted with permission from Artword Quarterly and Fan Magazine Copyright © 2000 by Donal Heffernan

ANCESTORS ON HILLSIDES by Donal Heffernan Ryan, O'Brien, McCarthy Sullivan, Kelly and McGonigal Crosby and O'Halloran, Then up the cemetery road a bit Leahy and Gallagher. We are swept By a ritual flood Like a stick, tossed along, Pulled to ancestral currents Snagged near family markers And forced to grab for life-rings: Our hopes for our future. And in this stream Bedded with empty shells, our breathing Seems no license to us at all As bosses here. We accept our ancestors Lying below us, In this theater as cast Never conceding our own roles Protesting of course Well, we are still in rehearsal, thank you. Nora age four Michael killed in war Nell in childbirth Daniel by a thief Kathleen, James, my father Grandfather Michael The senator, Cornelius Vic and Bart, priests And aunts, all five, Crosbys, Grandmother Sarah, I never saw. Memories float As inside videos, We offer flowers, But retain our fear, doubts Knowing the great clock Will again repaint These daisies. With darting glances From time to time We check the rusty cemetery gates Guarding the road back As if to see, perhaps On a shelf, just outside its ancient frame, Our resting dreams; Anxious we are to return, and Escape this whirlpool, This glutton of time place Like a boxer forced to his corner In the final round. Ancestors on hillsides Kelly, McGonigle, Crosby and O'Halloran And down the sidehill's winding lane a bit, Leahy, Heffernan and McGovern. Reprinted with permission from Paintbrush Copyright © 2001 by Donal Heffernan

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