In Dependence, we are Distracted, disconnected, dying by Elected (and unelected) hands in Prayer
Defense is hunger and Hunger is defense
In this season of frozen ground, of recovery and hibernation, of orange Midnights, in my painful silence I have listened for her, Brigid of the earth and sky…
Ode to Mickey
I found my grandmother’s unfinished memoir.
Separate the self Only to pull it through
is é atá le rá aici áit éigin idir teangacha // what she has to say is somewhere between languages
“This is the time I will look back on fondly,” I think sometimes, However difficult, however—dare I say it—unprecedented…
Nothing is set or fixed, that we grow Apart from time as well as with it
Even on a dreary day, when Loss is an anthem, An ave rehearsed in an empty church
don’t underestimate meeting bright orbs.