st. brigid
featured in the chapbook, mystic manor — available now for pre-order.
Fertile is the ground beneath my feet
aching for the soft hello of new life,
left to wonder when the green
will erupt within the stones and sod.
The sun grants its warmth to those
who rest in this liminal space
between the seed and the bloom.
It’s here that I think of you.
I think of the way your hair grows.
both of us, dancing, with braids
swinging down our spines. The darkness
of our mane, if nothing else, uniting us.
When I look into your eyes,
I couldn’t care less if they are mine
or your father’s staring back at me
but rather, whether or not they will play witness
to a life of love or pain.
I imagine the sound of your cries
and pray that I am wise enough
to interpret their meaning.
The thought of you weeping
sits heavy in my heart. Will it comfort you
to know that every bruise and heartbreak
will be felt twice?
Once by you,
once by me,
and in that, you’ll never be alone.
I scrape the dirt below my feet
waiting with the impatience that we share,
searching for answers I hope to find
before your hands meet mine.
Copyright © 2023 Chelsea Peyton Robinson