Countries are either mothers or fathers, and engender the emotional bristle secretly reserved for either sire. Ireland has always been a woman, a womb, a cave, a cow, a Rosaleen, a sow, a bride, a harlot, and, of course, the gaunt Hag of Beare.
From Mother Ireland, by Edna O’Brien.
This isn’t the piece I intended to publish today, but I wanted to acknowl…
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