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I am from
a place not of leprechauns, rainbows, and pots of gold,
but instead a teenaged sky, moody
with deluges of rain,
moments later
opening to periwinkle heavens
and effervescent light,
scurrying clouds away.
I am from
salty, rocky beaches, gray water too cold to swim in
(even though we do every New Year’s Day).

I am from
cobalt suil amhain,
and loud, accented, argumentative
Stories from my Nana of
cherry buns at Bewley’s Cafe
on Grafton Street, and
sugary milky tea.
Boiled cabbage and meaty bacon.

I am Here

I am from
infinite kings
named Richard and Henry.
From staying up late
reading Harry Potter.
Hard, still-warm pencils and the flap, flap of long volumes.

From the Beatles,
Freddie Mercury,
The Rolling Stones.
I am from
mountains of
hard books and hard rock
and deep-fried haddock
with chips, malt vinegar, and minty mushy peas.

I am from these two different islands
disputing the same land
for centuries.
Easter Rising, Bloody Sunday,
the Troubles.
The queen and the taoiseach.
Dublin and London.

But I am not there
but here.

I am Here

Eating tacos with cotija at my house,
ice pops on the deck, year round.
A banana tree in my backyard.
Palm trees on my horizon.
Only two seasons
(summer and inferno)
boiling heat in August,
warm breezes in the winter,
boba and nigiri just a block away,
golden stars adorning
the grimy concrete.
Everyone wants to be a star.
Everyone is from somewhere else.
I am here, I am there,
I am from
dozens of family members,
my friends for life.
They are here,
they are there
like a pod of dolphins,
like silvery-white iridium scattering the solar system.