Stone.(Poem)

 
STONE 
 
   Great-grandma Madigan 
   had the wit to run from Clare-- 
   from potato blight and sodden rain 
   and charity cold as Celtic bogs. 
   Crossing the seas to a place of vines 
   where Irish girls could make a start, 
   she found herself a man. 
   He ploughed and hoed the hard dry 
   while she produced the kids. 
   Their little farm did well enough 
   until a doctor carried her off 
   from husband, home and last baby. 
 
   At the grey stone asylum 
   the doctor handed her in: 
   "Mania," he said, "hereditary." 
   They locked her up, at thirty-one. 
   ...