Angela Alaimo O’Donnell has had a few flirtations with the notion of “Being Irish.” Given that March seems to belong to the Irish, she has written a brief essay, along with a suite of poems called “Crossing Irish.” This is the second of twelve poems. More about Angela Alaimo O’Donnell
——–
COUNTY KERRY
in the shadow of MacGillycuddy Reeks
–
Unreal, the way we walk among them
full of our bangers and eggs,
clad in our smart mackintoshes
and good boots, safe from the rain
that pierces them like bullets from a dark god.
–
There is death out here in the beauty.
A hunger remembered in the earth.
The mountain rises slant, like mercy.
The slow slope of light eases the grace
under all the suffering and sorrow,
beyond the dark-ringed eyes of the haunted
whose hunger can know no end.
–
We call it drama, romance, history.
We trespass on their mystery.
–
