The Beloved Girl from Ireland

  I received the "thanks-for-participating" e-mail from the judges of the poetry contest on-campus. I am not deterred. It takes time for any writing to become mature and well-developed. So, here is one for St. Patrick's Day, and the Irish side of me.

I am a woman of the Éire
As you can quite plainly see
By the photos of I as a babe
Sporting chestnut red hair
Upon my little crown

By the time I became a toddler
My hair blazed strawberry blonde
Full, thick, and straight
Maybe my ancestors sprinkled pixie dust
Upon this fair-headed child

Innocent was I
Who thought it was my mom’s fault
For picking all those strawberries
Bringing them back by the pot full
Early in June

For I would eat those strawberries
Washed, plain, and pruned
Sometimes with a drop of sugar
Some sweet, some tart,
But always by the pound

As I grew older and cared for the mirror
I noticed these funny freckles
Dotted along my cheeks
I thought I had measles
For they were as plain as the nose on my face

No, I am a true girl of Éire
For there is this twinkle in my eye
Brought on by the gold ring circling my pupil
And the blue of the Atlantic Ocean
Composing the glint of warmth and steel

All in my gaze

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