My mountains, like yours

my mountains, blue

born of eruptions in the ocean floor

came to the surface hot and fast.

lava split limestone

molding, pushing, 

diamond mounds from the sea

til they touched white clouds

and basked in hot sun. 

rainwater blessed the surface,

trees grow wild green—bushes bear precious fruit

breeze dances above the sweltered city below

where my blood runs wild and easy

yours, burren 

deposited in shallow tropics

laid in wait, until

plate struck plate,  

pushing them west

slowly, from warm beginnings, 

fatefully emerging 

to cool, damp skies.

rainwater blessed the surface,

parched limestone drinks—orchids bloom in the cracks

the winds roll down into the village

where my mind stirs alive  

Patrick asks my name;

Sidnie Paisley Thomas.

Irish…Scottish…English?

alone together in the kitchen, his wife:

“probably slavery.”

but what I read says otherwise,

says indentured servitude,  

says violence beyond language,

says wretched earth

whispers, solidarity.

somewhere in the Atlantic 

near the ocean floor where we began

where lava made rock

and quakes made cliffs

lies the midpoint

between you and I.

rain blesses the surface

the sun rises in the east

sapphire waves 

crash limestone shores

the sun sets in the west.