“ The short sharp shock of three thousand mother two hundred mothers. The ones who picked through the supermarket debris for pieces of their dead husbands. The ones who still laundered their gone son's… Colum McCann
“ And you, Tacitus,observe how I make my groveon an old crannogpiled by the fearful dead:a desolate peace.Our mother groundin sour with the bloodof her faithful,they lie garglingin her sacred heartas th… Seamus Heaney
“ This morning from a dewy motorwayI saw the new camp for the internees:A bomb had left a crater of fresh clayIn the roadside, and over in the treesMachine-gun posts defined a real stockade.There was th… Seamus Heaney
