that a whole city - arches, pillars, colonnades,
not to mention vehicles and animals - had all
one fine day gone?
I mean, I said to myself, the world was small then.
Surely a great city must have been missed?
I miss our old city -
white pepper, white pudding, you and I meeting
under fanlights and low skies to go home in it. Maybe
what really happened is
this: the old fable-makers searched hard for a word
to convey that what is gone is gone forever and
never found it. And so, in the best traditions of
where we come from, they gave their sorrow a name
and drowned it.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
by Eavan Boland, 2007
