City by Annette

Belfast
The Hills had eyes; a city touched and horrified
Its bloodied hands embraced me as I struggled to find home.
‘Beal Feirste’, the river’s mouth: the tides turned yet circled
into peaceful lapping. The seagulls merrily squawked;
As I voiced place-names: Royal Avenue, The Albert Clock
In the Docks Samson and Goliath stood proud; in peace.
Its people. Their words rose; welcomed the stranger.
Warmth, strength. The Lagan flows its tranquil length