One poem about a (twice-)postponed wedding, and one about–well, longing, and loss, and the strange fascination of a telescoping antenna like the one on a boombox or kitchen radio: “Prothalamion in a Pandemic” and “Antenna.”
After many years of living in California, I finally wrote a poem about the beach, and am very happy to have it appear (with audio) in issue 87 of The Cortland Review. (I remember when, years and years ago, TCR was one of the first online literary magazines that felt just as “real” as a print journal, or to me, anyway–I realize that “real” is a very subjective quality in this context. Anyway, it is now venerable in the online realm, and this is my first appearance in it.)
The Oscar Wilde House at 1 Merrion Square in 1967 (photographer: Elinor Wiltshire; credit: National Library of Ireland)
I drafted this poem a few days after meeting up with Eavan Boland for a happy lunch and walk in Dublin between Christmas and New Year’s 2018, and revised it over the next year or so. It felt elegiac then. And now it is an elegy of sorts. I’m grateful to the Los Angeles Review for publishing it about six weeks after she died–but I would so much rather it were still in a folder and she were still here. I will never stop missing her.