For Brigid, for Imbolc 💚 and for my own mother of course, a midwife, she birthed me in February

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Brigid’s Day

 

 

And so, it snows for her.

February opens white, to shine around

and she brings us together –

this midwife, this fertile goddess of the field.

How we love her, that she brings light.

 

And Seamus’ wife speaks on the radio

of how he loved Brigid particularly

and all womankind come to that,

which she celebrates by reading his love poem

The Clothes Shrine for Herself and herself.

And there is love on this day of Brigid

and we are not afraid.

 

 

note: Seamus Heaney’s last words were a text to his wife, Marie, saying nolle timere (don’t be afraid).

 

poem and photo Rose Cook

From my new book ‘Sightings’ which is available from me or:  info@greyhenpress.com


 

 

for National Poetry Day on October 2nd

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When his mother died, Seamus Heaney

wrote a poem about folding a sheet with her.

 

So many days I have lifted sheets

from the line with my own mother.

 

She taught me the way of folding.

Together we would dance to and fro,

 

handing the cloth to her as she made

the final fold, a pat and sigh,

 

that slight smile to meet my eye,

then on to the next.

 

I never wanted it to end.

 

 

poem and photograph Rose Cook