2008
I love my trees.
My family has lived in this house since
Before I was born.
The house has olive trees
Shading the backyard.
My bicycle and soccer ball
Rest under their leaves.
2008
I love my trees.
My family has lived in this house since
Before I was born.
The house has olive trees
Shading the backyard.
My bicycle and soccer ball
Rest under their leaves.
The siren wails
And I run down to the basement
Pajama feet slapping on the stairs.
My mother’s eyes are tired; it’s late.
Last week a rocket
Landed close to my school
And I saw my mother cry.
I hate them.
Distant thunder
Might be more rockets
Or it could be artillery.
I love the guns. They kill the enemy.
I can’t wait to be old enough
To shoot them.
1972
I love the trees.
My family has lived in Derry
For hundreds of years.
We remember the oak groves
That gave Derry its name.
We used to have land
Covered in oak trees, acorns, lush growth
Until the plantations came.
They call it Londonderry now.
The invaders who took the land
and cut the trees for their plantations
Would not even leave us the name.
They brought only death.
Starved, hanged, beaten, robbed, driven out, and our children stolen
And they wonder why we hate them.
I hear shooting in Bogside.
There was a march there today.
Soldiers are shooting men in the back
And men with their hands in the air.
I can’t wait to be old enough
To shoot back.
1972
I love the trees.
Londonderry is beautiful in the summer.
My family has lived here
For hundreds of years.
My mum takes me shopping on High Street
When my marks are good.
Since the Troubles started
We’re careful when we go out.
We stick to places we know well
Places where we’ll be safe.
So far it’s mainly Belfast
Where the hard men set their bombs.
They’ve killed more than 13 people this month.
I hate them.
The ground shakes
And I hear people screaming up the road.
Another bomb and there isn’t anywhere safe.
The soldiers are helping people
And looking for the bomber.
I can’t wait to be old enough
To be one of them.
2008
I love my trees.
I stand on the hillside and look at them
Far away, by the house that my family owned
Before I was born.
Beautiful olive trees
That shade the house and would be fun to climb.
Something glints under them in the sunlight
Too far away to see.
The house shakes
And the ceiling rains dust onto my bed.
I sleep underneath it now.
My mother and my sister are crying
But I am too old to cry any more.
Glass breaks as the jets pass low overhead.
I hate them.
Out in the street the black-clad men
Set up a rocket launcher when the jets are past.
They fight back and kill the enemy.
I can’t wait to be old enough
To join them.