Anna Redmond
Anna Redmond put her own death in the Irish Independent as a mischief - or maybe ‘a cry
for help’. She married into Mr. Webster’s hotel and worked there slave-like. Her beautiful
young face, her red hair streaming, cheekily curling, her laughter eyes sad - her husband,
boyishly drinking all the profits. They said she suffered from her nerves! They said no
wonder Tommy drank the way he did! They always referred to her as she – she was a bit
wild, she didn’t fit in, he could have done better for himself – no wonder he hit her. Her red
hair dulled in a mental hospital. Anna Redmond, full of promise, beautiful and lively had her
youthful exuberance quelled by life’s circumstances.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
