Biddy Malone arrived
While I was out chasing miracles.
I almost put her in the dust bin,
Not seeing treasure was wrapped
In an annoying plastic bag.
Ho! I thought it just another
For my Spiritual Coin,
Now directed to my Fightin’ Irish self.
The package was heavy and firm:
No calendar, no packet of Holiday Cards
Address stickers that must be shredded.
No! When I opened the package
I met a dancing girl,
Long and lean with untidy hair
Chasing a miracle of her own
In Staunch Old Ireland!
Old Ireland I say:
My widowed Scottish 8th Great-grandfather
And two sons stopped by for a few years in the 17th C.
He married Mary McCreary and had a son with her.
Poor Mary died.
Life was harsh on women then:
Working to death;
Bearing too many babies
Ttoo quickly and too young.
Undaunted, Johen Shamus arrived in The Colonies
And found another Mary to marry.
She gave him a dozen more children.
My Irish Roots are short and straggly, new to me.
They live somewhere in my DNA ,
Surge with life when I
Hear the brogue or see the jig:
My toes go tap-tap-tap!
And the eavesdropping Border Collie
comes running to follow my hand signals:
Round and round! Between my knees!
Reverse and UP!
On your rear feet, Lulu!
It’s in our genes, you know:
No miracle that Lulu and I found each other,
No miracle that The Woman of the Mountain
Found Biddy and me.
6 November 2013