Squaretable Seminars

Cobbled stones line the city, slick in the streets,
Dry stone walls stacked simply around the fields,
Grey blue rain drizzles down,
. And the land floods.

Pubs carve into buildings like twisted caverns,
A permanent green soaked into the land,
Lakes rise in the wake of fields in the hills,
. And the rivers gorge.

Irish in the supermarket and doubled on signs,
Clam chowder eaten with thick brown bread,
Fog swallows the isle’s west islands,
. And the road
. That has never flooded
. Floods.


© Hannah Walleser