‘Destination: Port of New York, 23 December 1929’ by Maggie Sawkins

    Even though your name is there on the SS Cameronia’s passenger list: Regina M Keohane, scholar aged eight, of sound mind and body, you were the one sister left behind in Aughnacliffe, along with your Grandda’s blue cow and your milk bottle doll. But if you had gone I would not have been born. I wouldn’t have spent my life caught in an … Continue reading ‘Destination: Port of New York, 23 December 1929’ by Maggie Sawkins

‘My Mother’s Reserve’ by Fiona Larkin

    My Mother’s Reserve after W B Yeats An ash-banked spark, her Lissadell: a small domestic match would fire the turf, and catch her memorising. Rhymes compel. See her break off, to write a life in medical vocabulary, responsibilities undreamt of in Castlebar or Foxford. She weighs the babies, annotates new-birth visits, progress checks, dispenses care and calm advice in rosehip syrup, infant milk, … Continue reading ‘My Mother’s Reserve’ by Fiona Larkin

‘Posted in stone, O’Connell Street’ by Beth McDonough

    Most buildings improve as they lose their blueprint finish, weather off architect too-sharp plans. Some wear layered flaked paint, for shuttered quaint takes, while carved seats bottom out smooth. When an engraver’s cut blurs into brass, it surely gains from handled warmth, but this grey braves a Europe-wide boulevard, all pocked out, holed and whole with the guts of wronged men who rose … Continue reading ‘Posted in stone, O’Connell Street’ by Beth McDonough

‘Cork Schoolgirl Considers the GPO O’Connell Street, Dublin 2016’ By Victoria Kennefick

    I am sixteen, standing outside the GPO in my school uniform, which isn’t ideal. My uniform is the colour of bull’s blood. In this year, I am sixteen, a pleasing symmetry because I love history, have I told you that? It is mine so I carry it in my rucksack. I love all the men of history sacrificing themselves for Ireland, for me, … Continue reading ‘Cork Schoolgirl Considers the GPO O’Connell Street, Dublin 2016’ By Victoria Kennefick

‘Silently, The Women Waited’ by Angela Carr

    The clocks ticked down, the men debated the Proclamation and celebrated while, silently, the women waited a hundred years to be placated, a body, sovereign, emancipated – the clocks ticked on, the men debated – and by the roadside Virgin, consecrated, and on ferry crossings, expediated, silently the women waited in convent laundries, incarcerated, their ‘fatherless’ children emigrated – the clocks ticked on … Continue reading ‘Silently, The Women Waited’ by Angela Carr