The Blue Book

Tír na nÓg

If you see them, brother,
please tell them
I’m a rich, spoiled, white kid,
bound,
forgiving them.

If you see them, sister,
say his middle name
and celebrate:
privilege is worth less than passion.
I’m bound. Forgive me.

I am meant for writing,
just little hymns:
please tell them,
ama,
I’m bound for giving them.

It was a joke, papa,
a score we agreed to settle
with a well-sized bowl and silence:

please, liewe pa,
tell them I’m forgiven.

TRACES

Miss-reading

Spirit