The destination falls overboard,
Still breathing. There goes another one.
How typical to stay and suffer.
Make, do settles for making do.
To stay is to drown;
Buoyant on gesture. The state’s goodwill.
There’s no boat.
Learn how mutually exclusive
To support and deport are.
Some cannot do both.
Spirits should have permission to
Spill on which ever land it’s stood.
Without forward address. No emergency contact,
Go now, I thought I heard. Just go.
Why is Irish grass so green?,
I am hearing someone say,
Because they all came over here.
Home no longer exists in places.
Pride is whichever social security number adds to more,
How quickly you can count their money.
With which innate decorations a tongue makes of language.
The calendar suddenly flares
Of flights and birthdays missed:
The strange, lonely rituals of new Sabbaths.
Snapshots measure time in sections,
Seconds to months make stark every wrinkle.
Copyright © Ciaran Hodgers 2014
Irish poet and performer, Ciarán Hodgers is finishing up a Creative Writing degree at MMUC where he is the proud Chairman of Poetry In Motion. Winner of the 2010 Sean Dunne Young Writers Award and published on wordlegs.com you can catch him on facebook.com/CiaranHodgersAuthor, or someguywithapen.tumblr.com.