Spectres

The cold grey sea
Stirs sinuous weed,
Bladder wrack, dulse,
Kelp, carrageen.
Dancing shrouds
Ripple and weave
On the winnowing tide.

Grey water slips
Into gulleys.
Around black rocks
Swash and backwash
Channel and flow,
Shift drifting sand
Over stripped bones.

“O tiny child
What did you see
With your grey green eyes?
What did you see
In that far away time
In the green, green field
Where the hungry grass grows?

Where are the weak?
Do they lie under stones
In the field of death
Or by the roadside?
Nothing but bones.
You alone were
Picked to survive.”

This poem evolved during my research into family history in the late 1840s at the time of the Irish famine. The research raised questions concerning the choices faced by families. How was food shared within the family?