© By Frank Ormsby
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Once, in the Giant’s Ring, I closed my eyes
and thought of Ireland,
the air-wide, skin-tight, multiple meaning of here.
When I opened them I was little the wiser,
in that, perhaps, one
with the first settlers in the Lagan Valley
and the Vietnamese boat-people of Portadown.
© Frank Ormsby, Home, 1995, complete text, The Ghost Train, 1995, The Gallery Press.
Frank Ormsby’s little poem suggests that the native in Ireland may feel as estranged as the migrant.