A Journey

At first, all feels foreign—
pushing a keypad to enter,
fluorescent lights that buzz,
a recorded elevator voice,
our third floor ocean view,
magpies and two-toned crows,
euros and commuter trains,
hunting and gathering
at a Eurospar and Select store.
We find our way to Dublin
hear Ulysses read aloud,
listen to the lilt of the language,
chat in streets and cafes,
hike the hills of Wicklow,
visit Howth, a fishing village,
and in time, feel at ease,
yet yearn to go home and
anticipate that moment when,
at first, all feels foreign.

From Tiger to Kitten

No longer called the Celtic Tiger—
once the pot-of-gold boom burst—
even leprechauns toil in Ireland.
Along a Dublin promenade
fiddlers play, mimes emote,
artists sketch--all with hats out,
hoping the kitty gets fed.

Lost and Found

With sheepdog skill
his mom herded her emotions,
held them close,
held him at bay.

He stalked her,
hungry for her history,
who she was, who he was.

Through the alchemy of Alzheimer’s
her sheepdog slept, and then,
in the meadow of her mind,
he met a frightened six-year-old,
a sassy teen, and a mother
sad from many miscarriages.

She wandered lost
where he found so much.

 

Prayer

The Celts,
sun worshippers,
hold sway
in Ireland
and when the sun
sees fit to shine—
a prayer passes,
person to person,
Mornin', isn't it beautiful!