A Mother

With frail and trembling hands..

Leaning lightly on the last pew

In he slanting yellow light

from the stained glass window

In the fading light of the chapel ;.

She is at the last Station of the Cross.

Her mind lke the frail beads tumbling form her fingers

falls in the cocoons of the ageing honeycomed structure of her mind.

Each cell falling in upon one another ,

Like the rosary beads beads counting the prayers

Its so hard to remember -

Thye once vivid memories are falling in on one another in confusion;

Like cinders in a fire , crusting , falling in upon themselves ,

and glow to their final extinction

As each decade goes from mystery to glory ,,

she thinks of the decades of her life

When she cycled from Kilconnell to Galway

During the war

To the Dress Dance with her lover ;

38 miles - each mile of love and lonliness

Rewarded by him m,eeting her in the Square.

He was on leave from the War in the Western Desert

They dance the joyous night away

Defying the raging war across the sea ;

Swore they'd marry when iits ghastly horror had passed the shores of

A europe paralysed on the precpice of defeat.

She cycled home again the following day

And each of the 38 miles brought a groowing yearning in her heart;

And all the others ... the decades - where did they go ..

But there were more mysteries ;

She thinks .. or were there.?

She genuflects , and sits awhile watching the tabernacle .

And convinces herself once more that God is there.

In the thurable - now locked .

But the sanctuary light still flickers

And so the host is in the tabernacle.

And God is very near.

She goes out into the awaiting darkness ;

Sees the smoke rise languidly from the huddled chimneys along the lane

billowing and drifting in the twylight .

No need to light the fire tonight

The single bar of the electric heater will suffice,

Unti they come and say goodnight to mother and nanna

And maybe tomorrow God will answer her plea ;