Friday, March 17, 2006


photo by W. Lowe
yes, I know it's blurry, but this photo is taken on top
of the castle where I kissed the Blarney Stone.
Notice the words on the sign next to my head, a
crucial factor in the setting of the photo, unbeknownst
to me, by my very straight brother-in-law...


to my half Irish love, an old poem

Will this make me a better poet
I ask myself, climbing the one-hundred steps
to the top of a castle, round and round
she goes, where she stops, who knows
and of course, I'd get stuck
behind this tourist icon, complete with
his non-stop jabber as we inch our way
to the top and my fear of heights
ferociously kicks in, but what the hell,
anybody dumb enough to fall for this blarney
deserves a little fear, so straighten up,
I order me, cause it's gonna be worth it
and the line crawls toward assuming the position
of upside down where a person could,
if she slipped just so, fall through the iron bars,
land on my head four stories below, but
don't be ridiculous, and damn,
the wind's picking up and here I am
hanging out on a fourteenth century
stone ledge that could crumble at any moment
and no, I don't live in Phoenix
but tourist-man goes on blabbering to me
as he adjusts his shirt in his Versace jeans,
adjusting his camera as often as himself
so as to be sure of recording the
precise instant of this momentous occasion
though his NewYorkese hardly needs more
blarney, but hey, I'm no different and
finally I unglue myself from the ledge
I'm sitting on to stand and look out
over the castle battlements because the man
I love who stands behind me said it's a great view
and so an inch at a time I move closer to the edge
and without missing a beat, he gently holds me
by the waistband of my jeans and oh, who needs blarney
when you've got this real love--someone
knowing exactly what you need
exactly when you need it.

Pionta Guiness, le do thoil...
(a pint of Guiness, please)

- mimi


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