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Ireland.

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I have traveled many places, but none have haunted me in quite the same way as Ireland.

 

Deeply challenging to describe, yet too compelling to simply consign to memory, I wrote feverishly throughout my visit in the late summer of 2024. After returning to the States I spent months ruminating on the many things I saw, heard, and felt during my trip.

 

The connections between Irish and Black American history are fraught. I have barely begun to untangle the terrible ironies of colonialism, famine, emigration, classism, racism, and above all, enslavement, that tie my maternal family line to Ireland.

 

At the same time, I am profoundly moved by the continuing struggles of many Irish communities to assert their identity and live as free, wholly respected peoples — struggles that are similar in many ways to those of my people, and to my personal struggles as a Black American woman. I am deeply grateful to Dr. Niamh Hamill, whose guidance and instruction offered me some insight into the rich, painful, uniquely complex aspects of her nation. 

 

For now, I offer these poems, written as if my spirit were once again in Bundoran, pacing in thoughtful contemplation along the cliff walk over the rolling Donegal Bay.

                                                                        May, 2025