I went to a funeral the other day,
Honouring a woman who wasn’t my mother
But who had treated me like her son.

I went to a funeral the other day,
And the woman in the coffin wasn’t my mother,
But before her soul met the heavens,
She had fed me her food,
And lend me some clothes,
And held me when I needed to be held.

She had laughed at all my unfunny jokes,
And asked when I’d come around again,
And scolded me when I needed to be scolded.

I went to a funeral the other day,
And the boy beside me wasn’t my brother,
But as I watched him cry I realised,
He had my back whenever I got in a fight,
And picked up my mood whenever it was low,
And always let me cry on his shoulder.

He made me laugh when I felt like crying,
And made time for me when I was bored,
And always let me in on his jokes.

I went to a funeral the other day,
And the speeches didn’t match the intensity,
Of the moment and the loss,
Of the sorrow and the grief,
Of the memories and the pain.

I went to a funeral the other day,
And I didn’t care who saw,
I cried until I had no more tears,

For the mother who wasn’t my mother
And the brother who wasn’t my brother.


This poem was published in The Irish Times Fighting Words magazine, a collection of stories, poems and essays by young and international writers