The Ruin

Blinking into the near horizontal afternoon sun

we pause outside of my Irish Grandmother's castle.

She always said she was Irish, and royal,

but 'County Mayo' seemed like just another name,

and "Ross Lea" the kind of sign you see on a Taupo bach.

Emotions in a turmoil

I walk slowly towards the ruin

with sea shells crunching underfoot

and the smell of the North Sea enveloping me.

I pause and place my left hand

against the cold grey stone of the battlement,

then bless myself

and commune with the pulse of ancestors.

©Mike Subritzky

2002