Seán Walsh: A Poem

Mary, Mother of God…

and my Mother:

Please tell your Son,

I’m sorry…

‘Know what?’ She smiled:

‘Tell Him yourself…‘

Jesus… Oh, Jesus! 

Where to begin? And how? How often?

An endless list. Back down the decades.

I’ll need a hand. Will you? You?..

Oh, Jesus… To think of the many times

I took my eyes off yours…

Turned away… back… to Vanity.

And now I’m stumbling towards You…

in fear of falling.

He reached out then… embraced…

And as I broke against His Heart, sobbing,

He whispered – I don’t remember…

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