Poem: To Wonder and Rest

I wonder where my mother shall be laid to rest:
Whether in the meadow of bulls,
where her grandmother lies
by the castle where my father once laboured;
where we brought him lunch after school –
how happy we were, my hand in hers
walking along the oak lined avenue –

Or past the strawberry beds to the elm’s ridge beyond,
where her parents and brothers slumber;
when each descent broke her soul apart
’til it crumbled to sand, mixing
with graveyard clay, ochone.

I wonder where my father shall be laid to rest:
Should he find peace where he spent most days
by the sea where Gaels fought foes
or back to ancestral lands
where his fathers were lords –
his name and mine bear a burden of legacy,
though I know he cared little for that –

I wonder where I too shall rest:
In that same meadow where I ran and played
down by the sea that taught me
to look beyond and seek stories anew
or further south, by a wide river’s bed
upon a marsh where love, once promised, was shed
and blossomed afresh – unexpected, but true.

I know not where we’ll be laid to rest;
Death rarely offers a chance to prepare
and few are fit to talk of such woe,
but one day we’ll bid our lives adieu
and I shall, for one, give thanks for such luck:
Love throughout is all that I knew.

Clontarf, Dublin – June 2023