DNA

remembering the generations here

The cottage in question. See the little shrine to Mary with the flowers and prayer card above the door.

Mother Mary’s face is blurry in my vision–
not a loss of faith, but a consequence of the Irish rains
that haven’t spared a lone square inch of these three rooms.
It’s been five decades since the last of the thatched roof gave way
now even tucked in the comparative shelter of the half-collapsed
fireplace
the prayer card, some months left by a relative to bring life
into this chilled ruin, will soon be…