by Michael Morrissey

Secrecy is a form of care.
I see a pictures of battalions.
Fighting brothers and sister
I look at them again and again.
I scan their faces one by one.
I’m looking for you, I want you to look back at me.
I have a thought to choose one and make you mine.
Were you part of the ambush.
Did you burn the barracks?
Did you kill the spies and Informers?
Did you sleep on Sliabh na Muck
Did you meet with Dinny Lacey?
The O’Dwyer ’s of Ballydavid
Were you at Lisnagaul.
Who was there?
Who saw what?
What did people say?
No Justice No Trains No Police
Nobody Spoke
The Secrets you took with you.
No stories can’t be told.

Reproduced with kind permission of the author. This poem was composed in a Poetry as Commemoration workshop held in Mountmellick Library, Co. Laois, in December 2023.  The workshop was led by writer David McLoghlin.