Walking through the Irish Hunger Memorial,
Up the sculpted ramps,
To look out over the composed ruins
Built to resemble those dirt-floored stone cottages
That my blood might remember
And the wild grasses sway gently in the breeze
Until I reach the top and look out over the grass and stone-
Turning away from the Hudson River,
I look up to from the roofless hovels
Up to the blue glass of the condos
Up at the Goldman Saks offices
Up to the impossible heights of power and wealth
And wonder if anyone is looking down,
If they can even see down to this place,
If it looks like anything at all
From such heights
