To Dolores Keane Poem by Paddy Glackin

Privileged rural childhood
Voice honed in stone
Rugged, twisted, wrinkled,
Cancerous, wasted, worn.

Overwhelming flood, an heir
On tape, ten winters old
Spring of culture gushing
Soaring swollen soul.

Glazed flawed culture.
Aggressive, alcoholic frown
Exploited vulnerability.
Exhausted dependants drowned.

When a soul captures beauty
And a mind grasps the view
As life is a wheel of wonder
Chests rise, to the voice of you.

PG May 15