Check out my amazing friend O. Webb’s poem on the Eunoia Review! Congratulations, O.!!!
On a damp day you left for Dublin
while I tended our family’s farm.
“You can come visit,” you said and promised
countless phone calls for your younger brother,
whose cupped lips cried, “Kate, you’ll get famous!”
as your bus rolled from our boarded-up town.
Scrubbed blood lined the limestone of your new town
as you wove through this world of dear Dublin
where machine guns forged faces infamous.
From a phone booth you dialed the farm
and choked up at the sound of your brother.
“No, I won’t tell Ma or Da,” I promised.
For a time you told truth to your brother
until fresh friends swept you into their town.
You sang at a pub. “For now,” you promised
while your soul re-pinned to fit in Dublin.
Though my sweat salted our family farm
I wished that I could help you get famous.
You saw U2 before they…
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