It will soon be time to obstruct the ether with propaganda for Grá mo Chroí, the palpitating collection of love stories taken from Irish myth that Ali Isaac and I will be releasing on February 11th. In the meantime, I shall begin with a few poems inspired by the old stories. This one is dedicated to Deirdre, she of the sorrows.
Memories dance in the candle flame,
And the souls beyond the window
Warm their shadows in its warmth.
But she knows he will not be back.
His home is not here,
In the hall of his murderer,
But on a green hill,
Within a ring of rowans,
Where their hearts had been happy
And love had kept them hidden,
Wrapped in the night owl’s wings.

