Unspoken

My friend, who folds in on herself,

does not say, ‘I am hurting too deep 

for words; I am protecting myself

with a mask and a cloak; I am hiding

in a deep cave of silence, leaving only 

my replica outside (acting and smiling).’

She doesn’t tell me: ‘I’m about to shatter.

If you touch me even lightly, even if 

your voice is soft with sympathy, that

will be more than I can bear. Please

pretend that I am normal. Pretend

that you notice nothing. Smile!’

One by one, I see processions of her

acting on a stage. Her lines are always

word-perfect. (Not, of course, her own.)

But I can barely hear them. They fail

in the clamour of the shrieks that she

is not uttering, which I hear too loud. 

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What Time of Day Do I Like Best?

 

On hot days, it's evening 

when I open both doors. Cool air 

floats inside, soothing my skin.

On days of rain and thunder,

bedtime’s best: I snuggle

indoors, warm and safe.

On busy days, the best time

is after dinner. I shrug off

duties, responsibilities; relax.

On lazy, self-indulgent days,

restored, I come alive at night

to dream or plan … in the nurturing dark. 

Written for Poets and Storytellers United in response to Friday Writings #211: Write about the time of day you like best, and why. I have written a number of times already about my preference for the night hours, so I thought I'd look at the question differently. However ...

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First Harvest

Do you call it Lammas 

or Lughnasadh?  (I like Lugh.) 

Do you hold it 

on a hilltop or by a well? 

And at which exact point 

between Solstice and Equinox?

How do you gather the grain?

Where do you store it?

Can you tell me what I should do —

not growing my own food,

living in a country

with different spirits,

whose only native God 

is our Mother Earth?

What is the way, here,

to turn the Wheel of the Year?

Not being indigenous either,

though lifelong in this land, 

born to country

I too claim as mine, 

have I not the right (I believe)

to make my own rituals,

even to use some 

which echo old traditions?

Will you smile

as, by candle or moon,

I cast a circle of air,

call the directions,

say a prayer of thanks, 

break bread and drink wine?

Do you see? There are spirits

unknown, kindly, drawing close. 

Sharing with Poets and Storytellers United for Friday Writings #210 Great Combination/Collaboration.

One I wrote a few days ago, not specifically for this prompt, but I think it fits, as it questions how to combine old traditions, based in the Northern Hemisphere, with being an inhabitant of a very different land in the Southern Hemisphere. (The ‘you’ the speaker addresses is not anyone in particular, so much as others in general who follow the Pagan path.)

Here, this Sabbat happens on 1 February, 6 months away from its Northern Hemisphere date, 1 August. As Lammas, it is often associated with the grain goddess, Demeter. Some traditions, calling it Lughnasadh, associate it with Lugh, a figure in Irish mythology, a god of harvests among other things.

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