TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
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07.24.06, monday afternoon
Petrol silos loomed close to the cemetary, which was founded in 1500. I saw graves where the Virgin was up to her knees in tiny moons, where wedded sealovers lay beneath scallop shells, and a child slept under the arms of a tattered teddy bear. A polished stone declares that thanks to the mercy of this city, survivors of a shipwrecked galleon were buried here after their execution. This is a metaphor for Galway, perhaps: a bright blue grave glowed amidst the grey tombstones, covered in a carnival of flowers.