Jading the Emerald
St Patrick’s Day dawns
and I contemplate a stroll down the
ancestral branch to the Irish twig.
(My name used to be Connell, you know).
Not much is known of the paternal lineage,
although in recent days some rumours have started
that the Connell clan sprouted from
a Scots branch, not an Irish one.
Not that I hold any grudges against the Scots,
my most excellent partner hails from that twig,
but I’ve become quite comfortable with my Irish roots,
twined in a Celtic knot around my heart.
I will not drink green beer today,
or wear any article of clothing
emblazoned with an invitation to
“Kiss me I’m Irish”.
Instead I will exhume my tenuous heritage,
hold it up to the light of a newly dawned,
St Patrick’s day morning, and
delight in the emerald refractions as they
play up and down the ancestral branch.
But if I wear green today it will be Canadian jade.