A Wedding Gift. fiction by Dave Kavanagh

A Wedding Gift Dublin wept like a moody middle-aged woman, her tears cascading in a saccharin sleet of cherry blossom, the park littered with their detritus. Spring is so untidy. Despite the sunshine, a breeze cut in directly across the Mourne Mountains with fingers of Baltic ice that quickly made my skin feel raw. IContinue reading “A Wedding Gift. fiction by Dave Kavanagh”

Walking My Father Home. Fiction by Dave Kavanagh

Walking my father home I have cousins who hated their fathers, I never did. I never went hungry because my old man had spent a week’s wages in the pub on a Friday night. I was never belted for looking at my Dad the wrong way when he was pissed, but I did live closeContinue reading “Walking My Father Home. Fiction by Dave Kavanagh”