Poem
for Brigid
aeddubh
For
Brigid
My
feet still in the well, cool shock of yesterday,
I
look to the candle, let open my head, my heart,
My
hands, then begin. It is years since I first
Reached
out (hesitant? hubristical? hopeful
I
hope, and certainly teetered between
Extremes),
and the worn steps still lead down
Into
cool clearness, scent of moss and old
Stone
and clean depths; spark-bright and
Ember-dusky
petals still fall from
The
rose dancing in the hearth, on the wick;
Forms
still elaborate, fractally implied and
Impelled
by tiny and mighty forces at play.
it
is Her mantle I saw first, silver river,
All
the shining things about Her, bright
As
Her eyes, Her smile, the fire
She
cradles in Her hands, that surrounds Her.
The
Flame of an idea
The
Forge of its making
The
Well of its setting into place
Healer,
maker, granter of imbas– She
Gave
so much to me, it sufficed. Not
That
I denied Her other domains, or scorned them,
Just
bowed and let them pass on by.
But
that complacent wall broke, and She stood
There
in the middle of the night, when the
Bothy’s
wall was torn down to take the body out.
Maker
of the First Keen, Her voice wound through
The
mourning sobs and whiskey laughter.
Sword
not hammer in Her grip, shield hand,
Not
healer’s She laid between my shoulders,
Behind
my heart- wordless reassurance- “I
Have
your back in this. Have, and give;
Have
not, and receive; lapse, and be forgiven.
Make
do, do without, but always do your best.”
And
now she shows in so much else-
Sunlight
flowing through amber glass, sparkling
On
soapsuds; the smell of spices slowly
Annealing
to delight in the cooking pot;
When
I make any solid thing, or beautify
The
familiar, known becoming rich and strange.
Washer
of the Dead, Bringer Into the Tribe,
Midwife
of the Soul through three worlds,
I
shall never, ever lose my way to her Well
As
long as I can set my faltering feet on
The
first steps of the path to my own heart,
Where
her living flame dances, too, paired
Water
and fire, as much spring as forge,
As
much spark as droplet, two and three
And
oh! so many, unbound by number,
Spiraling
infinite in the shining flow
Of
Her mantle.
