Soon
I will be as old as the Shan Van Vocht –
(although no one knows how old she is.)
Soon
I will ask to meet her on the borders of Kildare.
It will be cold.
The hazel willow will be frozen by the wayside.
The rag-taggle of our history
will march by us.
They will hardly notice two women on the roadside.
I will speak to her. Even though I know
she can only speak with words made by others.
I will say to her, You were betrayed.
Do you know that?
She will look past me at the torn banners,
makeshift pikes, bruise feet. Her lips will move:
To the Currach of Kildare
The boys they will repair.
There is still time, I will tell her. We can still
grow old together.
And will Ireland then be free?
And will Ireland then be free?
We loved the same things, I will say –
or at least some of them. Once in fact, long ago,
Yes! Ireland shall be free,
From the center of the sea.
I almost loved you.