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by Niamh Twomey
I am the girl
Wearing two wooly jumpers
at the farmers market,
And I am the hen
Who laid the eggs she sells.
I am the smiling potato
On an empty red and blue packet
Of Taytos cheese and onion crisps.
I am the cows' square backside
Sauntering slowly along the road,
And the line of cars behind.
I am the kettle on, and the cups out,
And the tenth time asking
"Are you sure now you won't have a cup,
Sher I've the kettle on".
I am the small corner shop
With it's bulky cash register,
And moaning about the rain.
I am Kerry Gold, Figrolls,
Montbretia nodding at the road,
And the crowds in the pub for the All Ireland.
I am friendly smiles and waves on the street,
And talking to strangers.
I apologize a hundred times daily,
I am modesty.
I am the frilly edged stamps
On dog-eared letters
In green postboxes.
I am the tin whistle being blown too hard in second class,
I am tap-dancing and swimming lessons.
I am 'N' plates and 'L' plates
And the bubbling radio
In the kitchen in the morning,
And the right to marry who you love.
I am Dunnes Stores and Rory Gallagher,
And the smell of gossip at the hairdressers.
I am the airplanes flying out of Dublin, Shannon, Knock,
I am the hugs at arrivals and the hugs at departures,
And the fifteen minutes free parking.
I am twenty-five extra points for honours maths,
And Granny's homemade jam,
I am "don't upset the fairies"
And an inability to go for one.
I am orchids on the Burren
And the rich banks of the Shannon,
And soda bread.
I am Baileys and a battered bodhran
I am jigs and reels and a prayer to Saint Anthony.
I am the colour of happy grass,
I am "whatever you're having yourself".
I am home.