Paula Meehan: my father perceived as a vision of St.Francis

I was back in the boxroom of the house..bottles chinked on the doorstep, the first bus pulled up to the stop.

Meehan describes her childhood home. Peaceful and calm

I heard him rake the ash from the grate, plug in the kettle, hum a snatch of a tune

Sense of place - daily routine

He was older than I had reckoned, his hair completely silver

I saw the stoop of his shoulder, saw that his leg was stiff. What’s he at?

They came then: birds

. shift in mood

. Scene suddenly dramatic and full of colour

The garden was a pandemonium when my father threw up his hands and tossed the crumbs

. The sight of the birds remind Meehan of st. Francis

And suddenly he was radiant, a perfect vision of st.Francis, made whole, made young again, in a Finglas garden

Her father is made young again