I would like to be here today. Would anyone like to send me here? Anyone? Patron of the arts? To write sonnets for you? Personalized love sonnets written by a sonnet neophyte with unwashed locks and socks? No?
Try eBay? Craigslist? Okay, thank you. I will.
I like Tess Gallagher’s poems. And I like this photo. Yes, I know this is not an Irish castle. Thank you.
Tess Gallagher, I know that you live near my brother’s house. I liked you already, and then, finding that out, I liked you even more. In Ireland, Tess bought lambs to save them from butchers and weaves wall hangings from their fleece.
This poem of hers, “Irish Weather,” makes me smile today.
“Irish Weather”
by Tess Gallagher
(from her collection Dear Ghosts, 2006)
Rain squalls cast sideways,
the droplets visible
like wheat grains
sprayed from the combine.
As suddenly, sunshine.
If a person behaved
this way we’d call them
neurotic. Given weather, we gust
and plunder with only
small comment: it’s
raining; sun’s out.
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