The three of us

 

The landscape may have changed

New generations of trees grow 

in unnaturally uniformed rows

Those that stood as nature had intended

Long since ripped from their roots

 

Little boxes now litter the hills

Doorsteps littered in muddy boots

People live in these boxes

The workhouse has long since gone

And the people pull tight their faces

In an attempt to get along

 

Your footsteps have been erased

Two generations have stamped upon them

Grass grows and horses graze

But the headlines like to shout your name

 

I think it absurd

Perverse

That you have become an emblem

An enigmatic symbol of the lust 

For fame

 

Life gave you nothing but pain

But here they are drinking on your blood

While throwing aimless mutterings to the wind

Never again!  Has become the new mantra

As babies are pulled from bottomless pits

 

Over 700 new born Bairns 

Who never saw the light of day

Disposed of like animals in the wild

With only mothers to know their names

 

My bones have calcified in your sense of shame

My blood curdles with your guilt

But they reassure me

That things have changed. 

 

As though that takes

Away the pain. 

C.K.23. 
 

 

Written in memory of my grandmother and all the women and children who were so badly let down by church and state. 
 

May we never forget. 
 

https://www.irishtimes.com/news/social-affairs/tuam-mother-and-baby-home-names-of-the-796-children-who-died-1.3008263