June expresses the feelings of so many in this blog post.
“How many children have you?” asked
The big Redemptorist.
When was it born?”
“Ten months ago.”
“I cannot absolve your mortal sin
Until you conceive again. Go home,
Obey your husband.”
The doctor warned me…”
Her coffin lid. She twisted her thin hands
And left the box.
Red-bearded saint, had brought hell’s flame
To frighten women on retreat:
Sent on his spiritual errand,
It rolled along the village street
Until Rathfarnham was housing smoke
That sooted the Jesuits in their Castle.
“No pregnancy. You’ll die the next time,”
The Doctor had said.
Her tiredness obeyed
That Saturday night: her husband’s weight
Digging her grave So, in nine months, she
Sank in great agony on a Monday
Her children wept in the Orphanage,
Huddled together in the annexe,
While, proud of the Black Cross on his badge,
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