My Grandmother’s Hands

My grandmother was born over a century ago in Ireland. We don’t know where. She would never say. She and her twin sister were adopted by the Daleys of Chicago. She changed from foundling to heiress as she crossed the Atlantic. Her name and her ancestors were abandoned on the quay — and she was… Continue reading My Grandmother’s Hands

The Clootie Tree

there is a sacred spring down the lane yea, truly, though abandoned by utility desecrated by profanity there is a tiny bit of the elysian just down the lane a spring bedight in candles, coins, rags, riches scraps of superstition supplication alms and oblation just down the lane and surreptitiously they come seeking lucidity seeking… Continue reading The Clootie Tree