The tenth of twelve poems in Angela Alaimo O’Donnell’s series. Click “Crossing Ireland” for the opening essay. More about Angela Alaimo O’Donnell.
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FIR/MNA
Here in the corner of the world-as-was
the old words still speak true. The Skellig Ring
around the rose of Kerry’s coast drops us
down mountains to Gaeltacht shore. The waves sing
the same song on the newer coast we know
but in strange language and a minor key.
The same things happen, but they happen slow.
The names for us different as you from me.
Here I am mna to your fir,
small swells in a surge of Irish thrust
as if a syllable were enough
to circumscribe our being here.
You face the wind and call to me,
my name as foreign as that sea.
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