Saturday, October 5, 2019

Ireland (published in The Cannon's Mouth, Issue 73, September 2019)


Down the meandering dirt
road, too narrow for two
wee cars, the rounding hills
speed by in a blur
of infinite greens, the fresh
of the sheer blue skies inhaled   
deeply, sweet as lake water, we glimpse
thatched roofs set upon perfectly square
brick-houses, fences and hedges, a lone
dog’s barks flailing in the breeze, we wave
gloved hands at passing folks, the chilly
air comes through the open windows,
and I tighten my scarf, my eyes swallowing
the hills, the road tapering, then opens wide

again, where are the sheep? I wonder
listening to the distant bleating rising from the field,
and the sky darkens with steely clouds,
and the car cuts through swift sheets of rain,
and just as sudden, the blue of the sky spreads
above, and we cheer at the sun,
mouth agape at a rainbow, stretching
to occupy the entire sky,
as large as the universe, as vibrant as life,
and I spot two sheep in the cleave of the hills,
one marked blue, the other red, they mind us not,
grazing on the lush grass, the car will devour the
road all the way to Derry (No! Not Londonderry),
where we’d climb the infamous hill to see the two
flags: one Israeli, the other Palestinian, and I still—
to this day, am not sure what I saw, what I heard,


what I know of Ireland.