Dublin: in an instant, I knew—
walking there along the Liffey,
watching the lights shutter in the rain,
all lowly and faint-hearted, opening
their mouths as wide as the busker’s cries;
counted the pubs going by, one by one,
my capable traipse, my after-rain calm,
so soaked by the end I wasn’t separate,
knowing that I walked my love
on the green side of night and cried—
my heart to the town-bound cyclists and cried—
my heart to the sea-bound barges and towed
my truth across the hump-backed bridge
and carried my truth, the breadth of it, home—
shoving these constants into morning
only to find them gone.
by Kelly Konya
Kelly Konya is a poet native to Cleveland, Ohio. Her work is featured in several Irish publications, including Honest Ulsterman, Banshee, Icarus, and the Irish Times. She is currently at work on her first novel.
Appears In
Cagibi Issue 4
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