for the first half of my Mitchell year, I worked really hard to find peace. during the second half, especially in the midst of unprecedented climate change, a global pandemic that our governments have decided to let vulnerable bear the burden of, and violence and displacement across the world – hope for the future has felt impossible. hope for my future has felt intangible. so since landing back in Dublin from Ghana, I have spent each day trying to cultivate hope.
hope is the sea and the sun
shinning sapphire reflected in the Irish sea
smiling flame whispering through the clouds
as my body burns in the cold of the water.
hope is the Dublin Bay at sunset
a soft pink and purple that hugs the Poolbeg smokestacks
a fearless orange that hikes the Dublin mountains
while my feet follow the sea in the sand.
hope is the persistence of the seagulls
that sit on my windowsill each morning
knocking to wake me up, just like Mom and Dad used to
yelling to their friends about the joys of goldfish.
hope is warm love from friends, new and old
on days where the cold grey seeps through the window
locking my body in the bed –
hope is purple and yellow flowers
stretching their stiff yet finally rested bodies towards the sun
hope is the grey turning green burning locks as spring lights my hearth.