Kensington resident’s ‘Irish funeral’ poem explores long-lasting grief

kensington resident poem
Celtic Cross. Photo by Adrian Moran on Unsplash.

Drew Watson is 35 years old. Raised in Kensington, he grew up with his four brothers and father. Watson had a lot of free, unsupervised time, so he started rapping and writing poetry at 12 years old. Writing poetry became a hobby and outlet to help him cope with his substance use disorder. He is now in recovery. 

This poem is from the perspective of a husband who’s grieving the death of his wife while in the afterlife, Watson said. 

Irish funeral

By Drew Watson

I am stretched on your grave

And would lie there forever;

If your hands were in mine,

I’d be sure we’d not sever.

My apple tree, my brightness,

‘Tis time we were together.

For I smell of the earth

And am stained by the weather.

When my family thinks

That I’m safe in my bed,

From night until morning,

I am stretched at your head.

Calling out to the air

With tears hot and wild.

My grief for the girl

That I loved as a child.

Do you remember

The night we were lost

In the shade of the blackthorn

And the chill of the frost?

Thanks be to Jesus,

We did what was right,

And your maidenhead still

Is your pillar of light.

The priests and the friars

Approach me in dread.

Because I still love you

And would still be your shelter

From rain and the storm.

And with you in the cold grave,

I cannot sleep warm.

Editor: Zari Tarazona / Designer: Henry Savage

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