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.