because this is the night the bonfires are lit,
three stories tall.
And sometimes bombs go off.
Pipe bombs, parades, and peace, mostly.
We hope.

The Troubles are over in Northern Ireland, but this week tends to be a bit troublesome. Troubled. The Twelfth.

A holiday for some. On holiday are others. The history runs deep. And the hurt.

I wrote this last summer in the shadow of the wall, where my heart wept:

One wall
Two stories
Two countries
One wall
Two memories
Two passions
Too tall
Two enclaves
Two hard hearts
One wall
Too much pain
Too much to change
How does one navigate a wall?
Two murals
Two memorials
One wall
Too many dead
Too much blood shed
For what?
A wall that holds the peace
but holds them back,
That breeds a lie
and fears attack.
The roads split because to walk from here to there
is to cross a wall that must not be crossed.
Because they live there
and we live here.
That’s just how it is
in the shadow of fear.
And you never talk to those people so near
because they have their banner
and you have yours.
In city center you might meet,
but at home you lock the doors
and mark your street,
and retreat behind the wall
because that’s just how it’s done.
As kids we grew up with our heroes
and our flags
And we threw stones, it was fun.
So now we have a wall.
It’s safer.
That’s just how it’s done.