Across the sea to a barren land,
ten years an exile.
When we visited her home I saw
that part of me was there.
The Poles, the Irish, a deserted wife,
all familiar with rejection, were
among her forbears.
When I returned to my country
I hated it. But one year on
I could stand and watch the rocks and trees
and love its first people.
“If I went home things might be no different.”
“In the same way men ought to love their wives,
as they love their own bodies. In loving
his wife a man loves himself.”
“Where you go, I shall go, and where you
stay, I shall stay. Your people will be
my people, and your God my God. Where
you die, I shall die, and there be buried.”