Inocenti
                                                 Mary O'Malley    

 This poem is inscribed on a limestone plaque in the graveyard of the innocents in Galway.
It was commissioned by parents wishing to mark their unbaptized infants' graves.

They are not here—clay never held them
But it is entirely possible
That they return to consecrate this place
Bless their fathers’ avid eyes, fill
The universe of their mothers’ arms,
Wise as quatrocento angels.

Look for them in slanted light
A host as soft as mothwings swoops and dips
Across the bay. They are up after bedtime
Retouching the lake with gleam and glint,
Tossing the Clare hills to desert,
Dimpling the sea. In this time of wonders
It is entirely possible
That we are islands in the territory of angels.

© 1999 by Mary O'Malley