In mind and in deed:
Fitful nights of despair-
As I lay like a blind woman-
Hearing the knocks along my walls.
I know there are cracks.
I can hear the ghosts rush in,
But last night was different-
With dreams of ships and storms-
And a ghost slipped in:
A young fresh kelle
With bright eyes that shined
From Great Brigid’s fire.
She sang me songs of old:
And gave me a dream with a treasure map;
A key to answers for questions asked long ago.
So I wake today,
Mishapen, fuller of the girl I used to be
And the woman I have become:
A composite blending-
Of hues and shapes;
An eclipse of two powerful bodies.
I realize as I go to face the wounding of my hearth
On the day of the Hearth goddess,
That my life has always been a spell;
Too many omens and whispered spirits
To think otherwise.
And I was fighting the raging tides
That swelled up inside me;
The ones alight with the risen dawn-
After long restless nights.
For on this day,
There has always be an awakening
In the udders of ewes
And the magma beneath.
The fire was always there
And no amount of storm or cold
Could dampen this flame that bids my limbs to dance.
Sometimes life can be a love story
In spite of the fight
And as the storms rage, the gulls cry:
"Brigid, guard your fire, for this is your night!".