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New Hampshire Journal

I lift the white porcelain

cup, gulp a mouthful of black

tea, pick up the second half

of the jelly sandwich, content

that the twelve-hour day

at Amoskeag Mills has ended.

Since evening has already descended

along the banks of the Merrimac,

I will tend my garden plot

in the cotton mill yard tomorrow

when the clouds are not forecasted

to steal the July light. I need

to write to my cousins in Cork,

let them know that my arrival

in America in place of my brother

John has worked out for both of us.

I need to tell them that I met

Elizabeth from Limerick

and we married in Brockton

at St. Patrick’s Church before moving

north to this Irish neighborhood

in my adopted New Hampshire city

of Manchester near Dan and Annie

Sullivan. I’m not sure how long we

will stay. Liz has made the return voyage

three times across the Atlantic.


Encore (National Federation of Poetry Societies)


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