My Mother Speaks To Me Of Suicide
My mother calls me up again to speak to me of suicide.
Another young man in the west has committed his suicide.
She tells me that I knew him in my teenage years
before I left home instead of killing myself
but I don't remember him at all.
Every single Irish week ten of us are doing it.
In my old town and dozens similar suicide's as regular
as weddings are. A plague, a scourge, an epidemic: I'm tired
of public platitudes like these. Not medicine nor scripture
can explain it; suicide at Irish rates is self-destruction
as mass movement, telling us the life we...