a poem for the day

my mom sent me this poem. I love her insight on things and i thought I'd share it as it is a reminder of the way we can use hard times to be joyful in what we have, just as so many have in the past.

The Emigrant Irish

Like oil lamps, we put them out the back-

of our houses, of our minds. We had lights

better than, newer than and then

a time came, this time and now

we need them. Their dread, makeshift example:

they would have thrived on our necessities.

What they survived we could not even live.

By their lights now it is time to

imagine how they stood there, what they stood with,

that their possessions may become our power:

Cardboard. Iron. Their hardships parceled in them.

Patience. Fortitude. Long-suffering

in the bruise-colored dusk of the New World.

And all the old songs. And nothing to lose.

Eavan Boland