Freedom
There is a photograph of Freedom Park
my mother father and sister
stand in front of the open gates
I am a child in my mother’s arms.
An uncle had died of TB
a particularly virulent strain
one more uncle was in Dublin
in a TB ward never to return.
There was no freedom here
a grandmother of one faith
married to a grandfather
of a faith state recognised.
But the freedom was of love
the way they joshed and laughed
cocking a snook at convention
in dangerous times for either.
Their loved persevered
in spite of the disconnection
families estranged rejection
and so the lesson was learned.
A lesson passed down
to following generations.
Celfypridd 