Maggie Ooch

Photo of Irish Famine sculpture in Dublin by Bernd Thaller

Oh, there she is again
peeking from the bathroom mirror
hair a tangled bird’s nest
face that could stop a clock.

Invocation
of the ill-kempt,
hearing her name
halted us at the door.

Comb your hair
straighten that skirt
pull up your socks,
you look like Maggie Ooch. 

She was a cautionary tale
a warning
a visage 
awful as Medusa.

Her specter
may have risen
from some misty corner
of Ireland,

a spirit on the coffin ships
watching ragged immigrants
reach for the dignity 
they traded for passage.    

Or maybe my mother invented her
I don’t know
She’s loomed large over the years
brooding reminder of grief I never lived
still pulsing in my bones

Oh, Maggie Ooch
I see you in the mirror
ghost of guilt and gratitude
I will honor you
I will honor them.