I am Here

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,
freckles
and loud, accented, argumentative
voices.
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.