Here are some ramblings in response to Origens , by Imelda Maguire:
From Where Do I Come
I come from the edge of the city,
that suburban, semi-detached, quiet place on the hill,
from a father who was orphaned before he could speak,
who remembered the bomb shelters, the ration books.
From a father who was himself evacuated during the war.
I come from that "we worked hard to get here" place.
My father proud to have had an education,
proud to have become, "blue collar"
to have left the trowel behind.
I come from that stock of women
who made more of what they were given,
who rose from the soil of their ancestors.
From a mother who ran, ran barefoot
from want and hunger.
Who spent her life adding to her funds,
working hard for her money, saving her money,
afraid somehow, it might evaporate.
I come from that country of alone,
where all physical needs were cared for
but where, my heart was barren wasteland,
where the hope of my father hung round my neck
a noose strangling my own true longing.
But
I come from a family of fighters
Chains are loosened and the battle goes on
