I come from silence

           except when my grandad sang the first verse of Slievenamon.

I come from piety

           except when my father cursed God for taking Christopher and Sean.

I come from harshness

           except when teacher read The Little Waves of Breffni

           and I was entranced by the old tales my mother told me.

I come from community

           except when the neighbours’ sheep destroyed our young oats.

I come from faith

           except for the silver-paper covered horseshoe above the hall door.

I come from hardship

           except when the big yellow van restocked the school library

           and when we roamed free over hills, jumped streams, climbed trees.

I come from sadness

           except by the big river with my father and brothers, fishing.

I come from isolation

           except when I read newspaper reports of the Munich air crash.

I come from solitude

           except for the raggle of football in the raucous schoolyard.

           and when friends filled the house – tea, sweetcake, porter, cards.

I come from Sligo

           except when my grandchildren wear their county colours.