The Famine Statues, Dublin Dublin
Wandering the docklands of the river Liffey,
She searches for familiar faces in strangers.
Sunrise burns through fog, a hovering blanket
turned back to rustle the early morning calm.
Dubliners and gadabouts do mingle lazily.
She darts and twirls in her feeble quest.
Then a hushed whisper, a phantom voice calling;
she spins, eyes straining for a familiar face. But alas,
in haste she dizzily trips against the steely guardrail.
The pain of her bruises drips tears from her lashes.
A gusting wind tosses her curls, marring her view.
Where, oh where can they be? A bump and a stumble,
a murmured utterance ‘Oh tá bron orm, tá bron orm!’.
She is sad.
Now she stoops to retrieve her gift package.
Pretty and wrapped in glorious green ribbon.
But passersby indifference gleams upon their shoes
a myriad of shapes and colours reflecting sunlight.
She lies there sobbing, her forlorn face in tears.
More bumps and knocks amid the bustle.
This time she is on her knees.
Worse still her gift is jostled and knocked for six
by a stranger’s fleeting steel toe boot.
All scuffed and torn, her precious benefaction
finds restful sanctuary at the well worn bare feet
of bronze cast scrawny Famine statues.
Stark statuesque stares of her ancestors keening,
Agape and staring in mournful monologue,
pleading the age old history of Irish emigrants
Today, the muted cry of mercy still rings true.
Weariness takes hold as she winds her way through,
scattered downcast images of the past abide.
Each plodding step draws her closer
to the reason for her homecoming.
It’s in her blood.
And then, at last, the vision of angelic blue eyes
a child’s face framed by golden curls of fire,
the cuteness of pudgy porcelain white hands,
and the mirrored smile of her mother.
There they stand, her long awaited couplet,
Poet lover and their child.
She has come full circle.
Copyright © JenKress
