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