It was that special time of year
When nights were dark and minds were clear.
To visit mum I had to go
No way could I rely on Mo.
She languished in that sweaty bed
with rancid breath and eyes so red.
The nurse said: “she is on the brink”
I didn’t know just what to think.
I clasped her cheeks, I kissed her brow.
I murmured: “please, Mum, don’t go now.”
Inside my head my sister said:
“Her race is run, her blood has bled.”
But Maureen hadn’t come to see
Her mother in extremity.
She licked her wounds, she drank red wine
A self-indulgent Christmas time.
An earworm crawled into my brain
It drowned out all my grief and pain.
“For Ireland’s cause” aroused my soul
“Our day will come”, “We will be whole.”
My raucous voice the rafters rang
I yelled and screamed and cried and sang.
The Soldiers’ Song was my release
I saw my mother’s breathing cease.
But then a miracle took place,
a smile adorned that wizened face.
Her rheumy eyes were wide and bright
Her soul projecting inner light.
The wasted body moved and swayed
“Eireann Go Bragh” she boldly said.
“Thank you, Mo, for what you’ve done.
You’ve always been my favourite one.”
I rose and squeezed her bony hand.
“I love you mum. I understand.”
Smothering resurgent fears,
Choking back the burning tears.
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