WILD

He arrived

With a Connemara kind

Of wildness

That intimidated

My timidity

His was an open

Tumult of a space

Mine a pent up

Cul-de-sac

He despised

The snobbery of my breeding

I bore the scar of it

And for all of that

We are born

Of Mothers stretching

To make ends meet

Struggling with loss

Sometimes victorious