Poetry Day 6 – Screen
We placed the lilac stock,
the clove scent of late Spring,
by the headstone.
Weeded your bed
as I explained family to
Three holes gouged where heather
Discarded, dried out,
on the empty plot beside.
Keepsakes stolen one visit – and binned.
Those who leave anything in celebration
of a mother’s love will be defiled –
over and over and over.
Adult children of abuse
keep the cycle spinning.
And I’m not angry I tell her.
My Mom, your Granny, is close
in other spaces.
Down Connemara boreens –
in the sound of the fox and cuckoo
at early dusk.
In the rose buds blooming yellow
in late May.
Our spirits connect – Everywhere.