Rachel’s poem
The irish lips of Rachel O’Grady
Point down to the boots on her feet
The sides curve up to the wrinkles around her eyes
Curls, just gray, neatly swept back.
She lifts her feet to cross the field
Through the brush to her prized logs
Drive the tractor and clean the spade
Every morning her bed is solely made.
The irish lips of Rachel O’Grady
have long since uttered Catholic prayers
But her irish eyes train on the fields
Good-will lives in the logs she spares.
To Lindsey
A darkness makes another light
The intelligence of a task made light
How I will never grasp the joyous ease
With which you smile and company please
The Irish Woman’s Country Associaton
They have no idea why they have gathered.
The business at hand is clear.
It more about the bodies in the chairs.
Nodding and passing, cheering and rationing.
The swell of distinction has passed.
Hold tight to the glass and pray:
May my favorite memories stay,
May I see another day.
Memories
Memories drawn out by rain
A sleepless early night
I’m staring out the window
And reliving every fight
Brennan bread and Brady sausage
A few Linnane’s in sight
The Mills are in Nebraska
Spinning tales of their plight
