My Mother Máire Ní Ghuairim

Before the fire
She sits.
And gazes.
Visions
Past dreams
Flicker in the flames, burn bright,
Spiral upwards,
In the smoke,
Twisting, turning, curling,
Ascending
Prayer like,
From holocaust
And sacrifice.
Heaven’s gates
Receive the
burning past:
The fire of passion
The driving vision,
The forces spent.
The dying embers,
The charred remains.
The ash of swift sharp life.