Reanimated Lavender Granola Switchblade Nun rides again.

Tuesday, March 17, 2015

1972

Here is a lily, love.
See that y'never doubt me.

I have things to do this morning--
I can't confess them, and even if I wanted to,
they have burned the churches down in Belfast and in Derry.

Here is a kiss, love.
Do you need a promise, to know that I am true?

Bodies are fragile things,
and that is why I touch yours so tenderly,
as if you might be torn away from me in an instant.

You might, love.
There are still snakes everywhere, no matter the fairy stories.

In her palace sits a queen, and she has everything.
Still, her fingers are never satisfied unless they make a rope
to fit my sweet white throat.

I am a banshee, love,
and so I must scream. For you though, for now, I whisper.

God made everything in seven days--
that's what a good Catholic girl can do.
I have inscribed little crosses on the pipes and in the powder.

Remember me, if I should fail.
I have cut a lock of my red hair where your lips have been,
and nested it in a silver locket for you to keep.

Here is a lily, love.
A sticky for the Easter rising. 

I am not much, love, but I'm yours, no matter what happens today.
I am just red hair and some spit for the Union Jack;
a prayer for Mary and the thing that I must do.





 


 

22 comments:

  1. Love is a dark mist in this--an Irish mist that is intoxicating and debilitating, perhaps? Or simply the love that beats in our blood for whom it wills. The image of the queen is both woman regnant and a Medea-like feminine bringing death and fear as she takes what she wants/must have, then loses anyway. Or so I read--regardless,splendid, flying words here, Shay, whatever the denomination they spring from.

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  2. Just love the voice here - must be read with an Irish lilt, I feel. Falling in love is often a thankless affair - we offer our paltry selves with open palms hoping the object of our passion will accept the gift, treasure it and treat it with care.

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  3. 1972 in Ireland did indeed see explosions in Derry and Belfast and Northern Ireland--dim memory here. Bloody Sunday didn't help! A lily may likely end up on a grave of she/he who dies in an instant. England was blamed--dear Queen who turned Irish into banshees. I love playing my "tapes" on all the allusions in your poem as I read the tragic story and imagine the lovers. How perfect for St. Patrick's Day! I think of him as the one who nearly destroyed the pagan landscape of Ireland--removing the "snakes"--and I am glad this poem attests to their presence still (though I know your refereence isn't a positive one).

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  4. This is so powerful.

    You always impress me
    and this might be your best ever

    namaste
    jzb

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  5. 1972, when life was an endless summer & a highway without end... Loved this, Shay. ❤️ xo

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  6. Still snakes everywhere, oh yes indeed.

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  7. Yes--this is like a monologue in a play and reads very effectively--though should have a lilt as Kerry says (only it does.) k.

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  8. The way you laced this the love with the backdrop of war and bombs got me thinking of the closeness of love and death.. there is always a sense of urgency and deeper passion in such juxtaposition...

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  9. I love the voice, and I love, love, love the snakes everywhere line.

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  10. And a thing to do...oh to be 19 again [1972]




    ALOHA from Honolulu
    ComfortSpiral
    =^..^=

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  11. My inner redhead is a Irish queen older than Maedb, I think -- her burden is purity of heart weighed down by the nightmare of history. Fine noble carriage in this, fierce and resolute and tragic. I always thought you were a Fenian. Dem love-snakes are Patrick-proof.

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  12. St Patrick has always fascinated me. I imagine he would laugh at the tall tales. I think of him as s brave soldier for his faith - perhaps a lonely one.

    Snakes aplenty, and I'm not talking the reptiles - man is often far more dangerous than the wild animals. I don't know what happened in history in 1972, but many Catholics over the centuries have gone "under" to fight the good fight. The lilly is often a symbol of purity I could be way off, but I read this as a mother to a child - the love is just so tender.

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  13. Spooky, but an interesting tale. I agree it needs an Irish voice. My Southern one doesn't do it justice.

    BTW I loved this verse:

    "Bodies are fragile things,
    and that is why I touch yours so tenderly,
    as if you might be torn away from me in an instant."

    Aw. Now that beautifully written.

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  14. Reads like a beautiful Irish folktale. Love it!

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  15. "I have cut a lock of my red hair where your lips have been" an intimacy of love that is true… tragedy is endless, like the snakes.

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  16. I loved the last stanza....So deep, Beautifully penned!

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  17. Happy belated St. Patrick's Day, irish lass!

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  18. A lot of sass in this one~ I agree there is myth and magic tied in a slip knot-when it comes to love~

    Well done

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  19. half a world away, my brother was adopted that year. yet this voice evokes that time ~

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  20. O.K., now my turns to say something for you ...
    Are you ready ?
    Listen clearly, O.K. ? I only say one time.
    Ready ?
    3...2....1

    MEOW !!!!

    tee...heh..heh
    xoxo

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  21. aye, and the Irish brogue 'tis...

    but where are the Lucky Charms? you know they're magically delicious!

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