Tears in Spring by Marie Fitzpatrick
Aoife oh Aoife- I have written this song
for you who said- that whoever’s done wrong
suffers in silence and will end up accused
by the mirror-oh the mirror-whatever it views
could it be clear as what’s left by the rain
or closets all skeletons scream for and claim
As their own is now yours
yes, yours alone and where’s Owen?
Yes, Owen and his empty smile
And his criminal record that he calls juvenile.
Wild, wild Owen, innocent as a leper
but Innocent too was your
missing child
Do you still waitress in Dublin, Do you still grieve?
For all its hungry children, running hopeless through streets.
And you’d point and cry-say “There, There goes I”
A few decades removed/ but never would you cry
“being poor makes you hard” is all you would say
“mine will have everything or inherit a grave.”
But where’s Owen
and his working class hands?
His torn jeans or the whiskey,
he never could stand,
to drink enough of.
And he would now
if he knew love,
how he came to defile
your dreams and those of
your missing child..
And that ring with a diamond, how it must shine
in some pawn shop in Clonmell, for a pretty dime
that Owen gave you-before you gave him the news
that his child was in you, then he left, then you knew
even as you gave birth, that your child wouldn’t live
Just how precious is life, when you can suffocate it?
Over wine tasting spoiled, I try to digest
each word of your letters, that sing emptiness
that curse all the fates and the heavens so wild
they always have room for those undefiled
Aoife oh Aoife in the yard
exhumed by each rain.
What you’ve hidden there
screams out our names.
Our bloody names as you’d say.
And I hear it when it starts
I hear it when it fades
Sometimes I hear it all the while.
Cause we know what happened
to your first child.
Yes, we know what happened
to your missing child
Aoifa, your missing child
your murdered child.
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