Evening. Red sky. Standing at the door.
I sense a shadow presence here:
the one who loved this land before.
Those harmless hills bear scars of war.
Someone stood here, full of fear.
This is not a metaphor.
Above me, turkey vultures soar;
below the garden, seven deer.
Someone loved this land before.
loved it as I do, maybe more.
She did not simply disappear
and she is not a metaphor.
This was some woman's home before
pale soldiers came to clear
a land that someone loved before.
What to do with facts like this? I ignore
them? Hope they disappear?
Someone loved this land before.
None of this is metaphor.
~ Patricia Monaghan
U.S.A./ Ireland
~ Beannaichte'
11 May, 2017
@beannaichte.twitter.com
