Poems can surprise us. As I began to draft this one, it seemed to be about aging and physical inheritance. And it is—the older I get, the more Irish I look.
But the poem showed me it also had something to say about the loss carried for decades by a close relative.
Two years ago—purely by chance on social media, and with permission on both sides—I was able to give my family member information about the daughter she’d surrendered in 1968 as an infant, in a closed adoption.
Using me and another intermediary, my relative and her daughter exchanged greetings and photos and expressed their relief at finding closure. Otherwise, it seems they’ve reached a mutual, tacit decision not to communicate directly or meet in person.
Poems can surprise us. As I began to draft this one, it seemed to be about aging and physical inheritance. And it is—the older I get, the more Irish I look.
But the poem showed me it also had something to say about the loss carried for decades by a close relative.
Two years ago—purely by chance on social media, and with permission on both sides—I was able to give my family member information about the daughter she’d surrendered in 1968 as an infant, in a closed adoption.
Using me and another intermediary, my relative and her daughter exchanged greetings and photos and expressed their relief at finding closure. Otherwise, it seems they’ve reached a mutual, tacit decision not to communicate directly or meet in person.
Powerful and poignant. Its multi-layered meanings enrich it and make it feel deeply Irish.