(The unnamed
graves of 133 women, called 'Magdalenes,' were dug up and the remains cremated
to be re-interred in a communal grave in Glasnevin cemetary [Dublin]. The
original graves were on the grounds of a convent, and that piece of land
was sold for sites, fetching a large amount of money. The women had been
unmarried mothers or daughters of unmarried women and men.)by Maighread medbh
The mother and the daughter fall away
I'm staring at a grave that I narrowly escaped
Fifty years ago it might be me
In a Magdalen asylum / with my penitent's dress
and my baby bouncing on no-body's knee
My eternal happiness would depend upon
how well I could renounce nature's ways
I could never speak my name
all my work would deepen shame
and I'd never be acceptable again
The daughter from the mother is torn away /torn away
The daughter from the mother is torn away
It must take some strength to love when a number is your name
You're an untouched planet in a galaxy of shame
There's nothing special in your eyes
or in your childish sparkling smile
no mirror to reflect your lack of blame
Darkness spreads like comfort
and in your narrow bed
the darkness speaks an answer in your head—
You are the fallen woman
or the fallen woman's child
and you'll pay in pain the price that love denied
Fathers of our House help us
Fathers of our Babies help us
Fathers of our World help us
Fathers we never saw you leave
Sisters of Mercy help us
Sisters of the Good Shepherd help us
Sisters of Our Lady of Charity help us
Fathers of our churches—what do you call redeemed?
Slavery wounds the soul it seems to me
You made slaves of all my sisters
some to suffer / some to see
How could you say you had the cleanest need?
And I wonder / you my Sisters / what you call redeemed
when there's some can wear the cloth and others never
some that have to kneel / some wear crowns
some can be exhumed while others lie peaceful in their ground
The mother and the daughter were betrayed / were betrayed
The mother and the daughter were betrayed
In the Gloucester Street laundry perhaps they can't speak
In the graveyard of Glasnevin there's no sound
but history is pregnant and the truth is pushing out
and there's no virtue left in silence any more
The ones who wouldn't bow and the ones who wouldn't swallow
prove you can't destroy all spirits with some lies
One-hundred-and-thirty-three is a name that we'll remember
and we'll celebrate their spirits with our lives
For the mother and the daughter live always / live always
The mother and the daughter live always
© Maighread Medbh 1993