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Image by Jaime Casap


with the martello journal

On My Way Home

by megan o'driscoll

Dublin city is like a cathedral tonight
— very beautiful and I am not sure when or where to sit down.
The ceilings must be very high because even when the clouds aren’t low
I still can’t quite make them out. A lot of things make me a little bit sad.
Some streets are little graveyards — I walk through them like parks and think
About how I didn’t know how to be sad at fourteen.
A lot of things get born here and come back again to die.
I was so big when I learned how to walk
From Westland Row to Stephen’s Green
And back before dark.
               I am so small in the dark tonight.

I am putting my hands to the pavement and checking for a pulse.
I am looking at my hands and hoping I am clean.
I am looking into the streetlight unblinking and hoping some light gets inside of me.
The problem with home is you can’t change it.
The problem with home is it won’t stop changing.
I know Dublin city is not a cathedral and I will prove it to you:
                Next time the clouds part I will point you to the stars.

notorious MOD!

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