You bought a jersey last winter – not
not any winter
for it was summer in Inis Mór
when the humble Aran sweater
swept you off your cleated feet, I watched
with envy and with awe as your hands
lyrically picked the perfect pattern,
fingers tracing Celtic curves- gasping,
the wool thickened under your touch
the saleslady and me both flushed
on that winter summer’s day
wild on love the Emerald Isle sighed
and my body obeyed – unaware you
enfolded yourself with all that you have been
and all that you will become.
©Ansa Smit, 2015.