From the fear of being forgotten, deliver me,
That I may have courage, grant me the grace to desire it.
feet strapped in lithotomy position.
I smile at her. Her eyes are two locked green doors -
she has shut herself out and is standing behind me.
An angel-scavenger lies at her breast, suckles
on our history of silence; we have taught it to do this,
and wehenever we wind it, it spits up catechism.
Drapes are assembled.
Master and Matron decide this woman,
raped into motherhood, shall not know her child.
A boy. He is swaddled and taken away.
And the room is filled with pounding
against two locked green doors.
Later, she stands on tip-toe,
attempts to see
through frosted glass of the nursery.
(For the women who were incarcerated in Irish Magdalene Laundries.)
Nincsenek megjegyzések:
Megjegyzés küldése