Page 159 of The Last Death Poet

‘Not much since the blog, but I have a few ideas. I want to tell the stories of the different people who arrived in Ireland by boat, from the Tuatha Dé Danaan to those escaping war zones today.’ I smile. ‘And the queers, of course. I want to check out the historic gay scene here, go to where the old bars were. Tell those invisible stories, you know?’

‘I love it. So I guess they really are letting us see more than death,’ says Meg.

‘Looks like it. We’re now more general bards than death poets.’

She laughs and heads towards the side of the house.

‘See ya. Tell your nan I said hello, yeah?’

‘Absolutely.’

She leaves the garden and there’s the beating of wings as a crow follows her.

I look out over the city, taking in my new home, knowing that among those twinkling lights are thousands of untold stories rising from the earth.

Stories I get to tell.