High above Muckross

Hey, the sun is back and I'm going to soak it up. Here's a poem about my second favorite county: Kerry.

High Above Muckross

Put me there
when I’m gone.
that place in Killarney
where cousin Maureen
and Aunt Kathleen
lay-high
above Muckross.

Where they
watch the
wild Atlantic
waves crash against
the cliffs

and white sea-foam
slides
across the strand
the way
a lover’s tongue
licks
the others spine.

forget the granite
headstone-
too hard and cold
for me.

Have Johnny
down the market
carve from
bog oak
a Bridget’s’ cross,

set it against
the bright
yellow glow
of whin.

let it
curl its
finger up
and beckon all


to breathe
this coconut scented
incense of
my grave.

have the fairies
fiddle from
fuscia petals
and gently
blow through reeds;

and don’t forget
to scatter shamrocks
around the whin
to tickle my
face and toes.

Theresa Daly