That's me in the picture,
A collage of brothers and sisters;
I'm held high in my Mammy's arms,
Days before leaving Ireland.
Six months later, in our new home,
On a couch in our front room,
We pose again.
(See the console in our romper room?
It's testament to our boom and boons)
There's thousands of miles between those shoots,
And four million loved ones left behind
In a life and land we won't have again.
(That's the way life was back then)
No Face Time, #MeTime,
Sometimes a landline,
But always a letter in a card at the right time.
Brothers and sisters are missing.
In neglected churchyards,
And yet my mother smiles,
All the while.
Sixty years on, we pose again,
Sharing four hundred years here,
With seven hundred left behind:
Years of Famine and Hedge Schools,
Foreign invasions and Imperial Rule.
We stand *****, shoulders touching,
Between them loved ones missing;
Gone before the shutter opened,
A partial story as pictures go.
We're Irish proud,
Some of Canada's best;
When laid to rest.
Brothers and sisters died before we left Ireland, and brothers and sisters died after we arrived in Canada. But the six sibs that left Ireland are still alive and well.
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