Nights at the Magdalene Laundry
Waiting, as if it could
be foreseen, as if influence and love
and truth could ease into the conversation,
she pours water into the night’s
mouth. A little longer, says the voice,
and the wind bends the grass,
reaching, without apprehension, a conclusion.
Which is not to claim verity, nor the patience of stone
crumbling along the ledge.
She leaves when nothing remains.
“Nights at the Magdalene Laundry” first appeared here in January 2016, and was subsequently published in The Basil O’Flaherty, in November 2016.
O at the Edges 
Poignant.
It makes me think of the Joni Mitchell song.
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My first thought as well.
What isn’t said. (K)
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Yes!
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Thanks, Merril. That song was playing in my head when I started revising the piece.
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The little of the Irish history I studied makes this poem relatable. Besides, the experience and accounts of those laundry is appalling.
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A horrible part of history!
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I can’t agree more. It’s horrible, indeed.
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Heartbreaking
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I’m just beginning to read The Cruelty Men by Emer Martin. Have you heard of it? https://www.amazon.com/Cruelty-Men-Emer-Martin/dp/1843517396
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I haven’t. Thanks, Jilanne!
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