No One Knows I’m Here

Sligo, Ireland, May 2019

I keep busy, even in a stranger’s home, I press my life (however, briefly) onto theirs. I open drawers to find a spoon; instead of one, I find a girl’s journal, with a near-perfect illustration of THE EYE, staring at me, portal to her world. She declares her day to be perfect. I begin listening for something else: harmonies in rain, or the kettle boiling for tea, or just then, looking out the kitchen windows, three crows sail north, skinning Benbulbin’s back; as if peeling back this fog would reveal a stash of fossils, or coral, or Diarmuid’s lost bones caught in crevices of green. What will I find besides a few words that aren’t even my words? I am a guest here—a guest, wanting to touch the spines of books on shelves, or read the wild Atlantic light through watery windows, or set my sight on the cows’ aloofness in the field, that is just outside this back door. I see the long day before me; and, I am thinking differently now, set to the drift of the clock’s second hand.

M. J. Iuppa’s fourth poetry collection is This Thirst (Kelsay Books, 2017). For the past 29 years, she has lived on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Check out her blog: for her musings on writing, sustainability & life’s stew.

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