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.
