-for C.C, who’s adopted Brigid as his Saint
“Brigid was not given to sleep,
Nor was she intermittent about God’s love of her;
Not merely that she did not buy, she did not seek for
The wealth of this world below, the holy one.”
He keeps a book and a light by his bed.
Waking at night, his heart races his mind
way out- into the world he wants to correct.
He’s the world’s accountant with his passionate red pen
he manages to find the gaps -too great,
the divide– a canyon of inequality
he can’t sleep either
I feel his body sweat at night,
his blood boiling at the injustice
his passion I try and redirect with kisses
and I call him into the fold of me
brush his hair back from his face and
stare into his amber eyes,
agates of peace…
my window on my own soul, he reflects
the soft parts of me as he gently
calls me to myself again.
He completes me
His heart meets me
his passion shifting from inequality
to equality in us
we are the sum of the parts
as much as we are the parts of the sum
the wealth of love exceeds our
love of other people, places and things
we have given up everything to feel
as real as we can in a space and time
that floats through all sense of place
Brigid sees the world waking up
Mid- winter, spring on the horizon
We celebrate the world waking up too
We are midway through our lives
That we have spent in the dark
And the light Is beginning to brighten the days again
Long before Persephone returns we have
Brigid working her magic, finding a way to bring us home
Ushering us, she is of hearth and home
Our sense of belonging
We find in each other,
no longer confined by walls
Expanding beyond stone
She has carried us home.
