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Ailbhe Darcy

"After my son was born"


Grit shone on the surfaces
of my bedazzled eyes.

Flesh pooled about me,
so that it was difficult to run.

Disease squeaked an entrance
at the corners of window frames,
the gap beneath the door, my
shut mouth.

There was noise.

I wished you all dead.

After my son was born,
my mother came to me
and was gentle.