My grandmother was born in a country that did not exist
myth and imagination
her name unwrote
her passport stamped
Defiance
and Hope.
On a lane
from the town to the sea
she paused us children
by a wall-set plaque
In curving, curling characters
the Volunteers were ranked
I did not think to think
those names had faces in her memory
hands
held at cross-road dances
guns and kisses stolen
laid soft and secret in the hay
cyphers in shoe-heels and hat-bands and bikes
waiting for ambush
and lament
Nothing is forever
she said.
The young flag
Leaping from a broken keep
green-shawled Medb on the punt
we song-skipped down Sráid Mhuire
into
the long shadow of the church
Nothing is forever
we hope.