The Garden of Remembrance
Brexit is on every newscast this week. Still, we have no idea what will happen, or when. I toast my Dublin Writers’ Group, The Ink Slingers. It was great to be back with you. Frank (Francis), this one’s for you.
Cassidy’s Pub, OConnell Street
It meant nothing more than a pint
in the pub. We chatted over pints,
briefcases and handbags stowed away,
sweaters and raincoats tossed over
chairs. Francis said Michael Collins
frequented Cassidy’s Pub. Collins arrived
from Cork and put his own life
into the wind. Now on O’Connell Street
people rest on benches and contemplate
in The Garden of Remembrance, created
for children of Ireland in the coming times,
inheritance for coming generations of hope.
Our mythology, children changed to swans,
the new peace manifest into form, Word made
Sacred, life sacred. Transformation into peace.
In these days the of soft border crossings, people
speak of the country to the north. In our time
of healing, Brexit has come like a fox among
the rabbits. On both sides of the border, we wonder
will the Good Friday Peace Agreement hold?