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.
What a story. We're much more connected than we perceive, as your family's story illustrates. Reading your poem, I followed the flow of thought you describe here with ease and fair accuracy.
And I understand that morphing of features as we age, some of which comfort, endear even. Some aspects, however, horrify.
I really love this! I was in both the Irelands at the end of 2023. I saw in Dublin the Magdalene houses and the laundries where girls were enslaved until old age, along with the "delinquent boys" prisons run by the Christian Brothers. My friend's father was from that neighborhood, brutally occupied by the British soldiers, home to the red light district, the poorest of Europe in the early 20th century.
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.
Beautifully written, X.P. The facts of the poem's backstory add to its poignancy.
What a story. We're much more connected than we perceive, as your family's story illustrates. Reading your poem, I followed the flow of thought you describe here with ease and fair accuracy.
And I understand that morphing of features as we age, some of which comfort, endear even. Some aspects, however, horrify.
The horror! The horror! I feel you.
such a powerful story, X.P.!
So many stories in one poem- so many stories in one story. This is such a strong piece.
Extraordinary poem, X.P.
Great poem my Irish love
Powerful piece indeed. It wants to be read out loud
And works so beautifully on the page. Especially the lone word child. Wow
Lucky readers, we are, that this poem surprised you.
Aging and physical inheritance, yes - but with the remarkable specificity and backstory.
Well done.
Thank you. I love this.
Powerful and poignant. Its multi-layered meanings enrich it and make it feel deeply Irish.
Really deep. Thanks for sharing
I really love this! I was in both the Irelands at the end of 2023. I saw in Dublin the Magdalene houses and the laundries where girls were enslaved until old age, along with the "delinquent boys" prisons run by the Christian Brothers. My friend's father was from that neighborhood, brutally occupied by the British soldiers, home to the red light district, the poorest of Europe in the early 20th century.
So beautiful.