In the fold of the hills where we lived
shadows moved but never disappeared.
On the ridge behind the house was a rock
sharpness worn by sea winds.
We sat there most Sunday afternoons
after Mass, after Sunday Lunch
and dreamt of the wonders
the sea would one day bring.
Look at what you have, said Ma,
not what you lack,
not what might come.
But after the crop failed again
even Da looked to the sea,
because what we had then
was not enough to save our family.