This for my mother,
that hometruth bearer,
who taught perseverance
in a house made of ice.
This for my father
who each Hell sent day
smashed iron from stone
in the lightless depths.
This for my school
with its jagged desk edges,
each one a snag on
black, heavyset tights.
And this is for me,
wall-less and free,
a landbound selkie
with her very own key.
Harry Gallagher
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