Monday's
Poem
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Aran Islands: Éire, 1902 Slate floor, thatched roof cottage, Cill Rónáin village on Inis Mór. saxifrage blossom, wild roses, plaintive dirge of the wind harp: the keening women my sister Treasa and I, Maurya, salt caked on her lips, digging potatoes in the rain. And I go with her, who will die in childbirth, the seaweed gatherer hanging from rafters, salt fish and oilskins the Aran sweater, a “bridal shirt” and I visit with my sister, a wife unable to sign her name.
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