Siuil, Siuil
i tripped today,
somewhere
between the road and paddy's grave,
alone in the thickets and dusky heather,
and in the silken
morning fog.
the blackbird listened as i sat
and cried.
she was kindly, wrinkled,
whispering
naughty child, alanna
as she wiped the berry stains from my fingers,
the bloodstains
from my knees.
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UisceBeatha04
I am the irony. I am a poet left with no words to say, delighting in the loneliness, the sovereignty, of afternoon walks; of music and chocolate; of small dark places and inner peace. You may take me for what I am: American by birth, Cuban by blood, Irish by affinity. Christian, writer, daughter, sheerio, student, artist, dancer... amateur at life.
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