I'm from an ancient tree
Felled by a winter storm
Cut carved polished.

I'm from the weaving shed
The prized possession of the master weaver
Teacher of crafts

I'm from the work of the loom
Shuttling backwards and forwards
Tightening the weave

I'm from the bogs of Clare
My carvings filled with sediment
Awaiting my resurrection.

I am from the Museum
Final resting place of artefacts
Proudly bearing witness.

Elizabeth McCloskey lives and writes in Dublin, Ireland.