Not New York

 Written by Kim Cronin, 1982

Four.

She believes in leprechauns
little men that enchant me
with their tricks 
and their magic
and their rainbows
and their gold.
She tells me all about them
and how she almost saw one
as a little girl in Ireland.
My Grandma was so lucky
to live in a land of magic

not New York.

I wish I lived in Ireland

just like grandma.

Eight.

Grandma says a leprechaun 

snuck in last night

finishing the candy.

He didn't leave a trace.

Maybe it was Grandpa

munching on the taffy.

Don't leprechauns live in forests?

In Ireland?

Do they steal?

I'm not sure Grandma has 

her leprechauns straight.

It's been a long time since

she was a little girl in Ireland.

Twelve.

My cousin Kelly (such a child)

loves to hear grandma tell stories

of the little green men and magic.

She sits for hours and listens

missing the fun outdoors.

Sometimes I like to come indoors

pretending I'm tired 

just to listen for a minute

to grandma and her stories

But leprechauns can't really exist

at least not in New York.

Sixteen.

My brother broke the glass

not an Irish elf.

Grandma isn't protecting him

by blaming a leprechaun.

I know he did it, 

because leprechauns don't exist

and my brother does.

Her stories are cute

but the only prove her senility.

Twenty-one

Grandma died today.

Her stories went along

Someone should have saved the magic

to pass it on.

But I was too wise

to discuss what appeared nonsense.

Now the magic is stilled with Grandma's lips.

I wish I'd been wise enough

to remember the leprechaun magic

to delight my children in

New York.