Growing up lrish
Behind these streets lies another country.
With doors left slightly ajar our houses,
on Imperial Road or Lower Dartmouth Street,
never closed on a view of somewhere else.
Running away from the swish of First Holy Communion
to a metal slide and concrete interstices overlooked
by those bewildering clusters of high-rise flats.
As if the future had got lost.
Going home on the boat was an aberration.
We were to negotiate a different terrain
and coming back again was worse.
The tinge of dislocating regret
at returning to the city meant
we lost our footing.
In the end Ireland
cut the ground from underneath us.