Last night I met a stranger at a wedding. In the midst of glamor and cocktails,
We stood our ground and spoke profoundly about our journey.
Maura arrived at this spot, beneath the mountains via a sandy beach.
Still it wasn’t the sand that held us captive here.
It was our heritage, our ancestors from Ireland. She wanted to go back,
That longing was our introduction, so I told her about Deirdre;
Who runs a hostel on Achill Island, and Deirdre’s beautiful, old Mother
Who once taught Irish – the real Gaelic tongue – to schoolchildren
And their black and white working sheepdog howling at the TV,
Eating leftovers from the table, who must be gone now.
Maura’s two girls were Irish dancers, but without the wigs.
Caitly I must bring you there, to meet our family, your family,
To be surrounded by the warm and loving cousins
My Great Grandfather left behind in County Mayo “God Help Us”
When he was 19 years old in 1854 with four pounds sterling.
Can he see where we are now? Are the fields of Ceide missing his bones?
Last night Maura became a friend, and we hold a small piece
This is the poem I’m submitting to the Library of Congress’ Juan Felipe Herrera’s Poet Laureate project La Casa de Colores! You can enter too, just write about your Familia:
Theme for Oct. 15-Nov. 14, 2015
“Migrants: Portraits and Friendships”
Every inch of this land is woven with migrant trails. These are pathways from family to family, country to country, and most of all heart to heart. For this month, find a trail and travel through it to a new dream. What do you see in your travels? And how do you make friends along the way? Describe for me in the language of poetry—migrate into new words, use new landscapes of images.