St Brigid's Well, Liscannor

 

I walk along the subterranean passage to St Brigid’s well;

it is jammed with pictures of the Sacred Heart, Virgin Mary;

statuettes of Jesus, Mary and the saints; crucifixes, rosaries,

mortuary cards, vases, medals, ribbons, coins, photographs.

Sadness. There are that many calls to God along the passage,

the walls seem almost sagging under the weight of the pleas.

The passage ends where the water falls in algal greenery;

where the earth is giving but also taking away.

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Remember my beloved mother, Theresa;

she put so much store by Heaven;

I leave you her photograph.

Paul’s legs are both smashed,

he is too young for such hardship;

I leave you his gloves.

Twice my expected child has miscarried,

not again, dear Lord;

I leave you my rosary.

It is my hope that Anne will come home,

I pray for this daily;

I leave you the ribbon I kept.