The Innisfree Poetry Journal
by Philip Dacey
Pronouncing Her Name
Rhyme it with Portia.
Sorcha. No cha-cha-cha,
though she's a reason to dance.
Sound the "c" and "h" of chanteuse—
you should hear her sing already—
or chandelier—her Irish name
means "light"—or champagne—
celebrate this newborn.
Shall she shine? She shall.
Now hush. Shh. She sleeps.
In her dream, the susurrus
of the Floridian shore—Sorshore—
the shushing around her small feet
a pressure to erode harsh
old Irish, where the "c" and "h"
harden to a "k," as in the chasm
she crossed to get here; Chronos,
this Time she has entered with us;
chorus, as with many voices
raised in praise; or even chlorophyll,
the green of beginnings.
For now she has brought softness
to the Irish language
and to us—see Sorcha
in her first chemise.
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