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Jane Bailey
Jane was born in Belfast. Self-imposed exile to the seaside provided inspiration for some of the poetry on this site. She reads regularly at the Arcadia Cafe, North Street Arcade, Belfast.
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Wake by Jane Bailey
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The black shirt still smells of the priest.
Stewed tea and barm brack paid for
With benedictions in a foreign language.
Tutting clocks at funeral mass
And us all, hoping for the proof of your promise.
Where's the everlasting life you preached,
For thirty years?
Which cheek should I turn, now that all
I had, has been washed away?
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