There are people I want to meet
Who I will never meet.
Or think I never could meet.
Unless I take things into my own hands
And make it happen.
So I did.
I met a great great great great great grandparent.
In a land I could not know as home, as it was to him.
Ireland, South Africa, Finland,
Our worlds are tied together by a strand.
We embraced. We talked of our own lives.
So that the other would know
Where we came from and where we went to.
I sat upon one of Grace O’Malley’s ships.
Intent as I was listening, I was absorbing her presence and her existence.
Her strength, her truths vs. her legend.
I watched her hands,
And admired the courage and vivacity.
Looking at her I am convinced I need to be related.
On stone by the ocean we sat.
JM Synge and I.
He asked to read what I wrote.
And I handed him a piece about Ireland,
Desperate to watch his face while he read.
I listened with such appreciation
When I met Lucy Spraggan.
Her music is emotion
In stories I can hear and understand.
I think she wants to be my friend.
The more people I ‘met’
The more difficult I found it
To narrow it down to who I want to meet.
The world and history are full of people to meet.
I’d like to think I’m worth meeting too.