what if what you know is just a basement rug, ballgame on upstairs, crickets outside, september night, cool air, touch of smoke wafting in, forest fires north of here, is this enough? reading a random poem by nuala ní dhomhnaill, sounds irish to me, real irish, as in gaelic, depending on whether you’re english, not me, i’m american, as in, related to merica, tennessee talk, knew it, southern, sometimes reel southern, like fishing with words, deep accent, but here in california everything is different, mostly people ask me that, isn’t san francisco different? yes, and no, y’all still just people, politics a side, and who wants politics for a main course? not me
Tag: irish
Remembering Sinéad O’Connor
piercing voice of a banshee, perhaps she already knew an early death was coming, her force pulsating from the stereo of my friend heather’s volkswagen bug, top down, summer night and we are all soaked, wrapped in wet towels, late night lake swim, virginia full moon overhead and sinéaid’s lyrics surround us, i don’t know no shame, i feel no pain, a moment captured by a song, o’connor held us with her on that june drive, a small slice of my life, may her spirit live ar feadh na sioraiochta
Daniel W. Polk 