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My Homeland

Photo by Becky Monroe

I knew it early on, though not early enough,
I have Yeats in my blood.

The green rise and roiling mist of Benbulbin
look down on me. Cradle me.

Yet all this lush sentiment came too late,
after the weeping of the world

tossed its shroud over me
like a net.

I never wanted to understand.
I only wanted to live.




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Marie Marchand

Marie Marchand

Poet Laureate of Ellensburg, WA. Author of Gifts to the Attentive from Winter Goose Publishing. @mishiepoet

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