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Connemara
I
It rained so much one July I read
War & Peace without hardly leaving
the house. Our Bean an Ti railed against
the Irish government in Chicago-
gaeilge, served exotic meatloaf dishes
as her daughter dusted and brushed around
me while Natasha flirted and Pierre frowned.

II
She’d never been east of the Shannon,
gave birth to seven by the Chicago;
returned each summer to young gaelgoiri
from Tullamore and Terenure, while he
farmed by the Tra Mhor with the dog nipping
strayed cows into the wind-battered shed,
and weed laden tides easing onto the strand.

III
On ceili nights we’d sit on a tumbled
down wall as the cailini passed giggling
in gaeilge and smelling of crescent moon
petalled stars; but we were too old for them,
they had more interest in downy lipped boys
they could play with, claim and then discard;
- Natasha, there’s a lot yet to be learned…

III
Himself had little English, had been to
Clifden only the once; we conversed with
my smattering of Irish. He’d be an
uaigneach, he said when herself was away
with the children in those South Side winters;
he’d be looking towards Boston and beyond,
as fulmers swept by and woefully keened.

Hi Jimmy,
I get lost a little; but the voice comes through sweetly among the distance.
I particularly enjoyed this image of some "Irish Colleen's".

On ceili nights we’d sit on a tumbled
down wall as the cailini passed giggling
in gaeilge and smelling of crescent moon
petalled stars;

...a beautifully effective image of fresh and eternal hope and wonder and tease! I am almost there.

Mat.

Thanks Mat,
It does shift around a bit, but that is the nature of the poem. From the family to the narrator and themes in between from cultural/economic to personal impact...