Nora Byrne
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Words

Arts, Arabic, Adventures

to the Shire, again...

Recently my life is heritage: cultural, urban, national. Today is a day for tribalism; I cater to my individualistic roots and self-center.

From the little I know of lineage we tend toward carbon copy. I’d explain what a tall order that is but I’ve been taught not to brag.

What else can I do, away on a day like today? I’ll happily give you a name, an absence paid in royal riyal, a two letter marker of success. They’re rings that itch on my fingers and are removed after a few hours. Take them; stretch spin and weave. Keep them in your mind and in that smug smile – you say it’s not bragging when it’s your children. My silver can cross with gold and bronze, draped around your shoulders.

If I could stay on that porch for years, I would. We’d fill ourselves with soft cheeses charred zucchini nurse glasses of New York white. We're full to burst and you're waited on like you deserve to be waited on but I can only piggyback on your goodness for so long. I was born to a sty of fortune, family and friendship I’m not to horde for myself.

I’m planting seeds in sandboxes, I call you from the branches, we drive 12 hours in a day so I can read late into the night.

If I could stand beside the vaguely tuned piano for years, I would. My voice could adjust and the chords would knit seamlessly. I print sheaves of standards, your hands double in size and there would be 7ths, 9ths, 11ths.

These things are all I want for Christmas they’re low-quality reproductions in Art Through the Ages they’re in Irish folk tunes and English sketch comedy.

Another decade, another party and we harmonize through mint, coriander, limes, mixed with too much sugar and too much rum, respectively.

I’m sorry I’m restless, dissatisfied. But you gave me Aretha you fed me to the river taught me about bed and breakfasts and big orange splots.

You taught me not to settle taught me to go forth you made me an ambassador I left your fortune to seek my own. So boast and toast my heart is there but my body, my prospects are elsewhere. I’ll see you when I’m old enough for paradise.

 

Nora ArmstrongComment