Under the great wings of those black arches
I am the Angel shade.
The rolling call of judgement day
those ‘holy’ folk sought to muffle with my grace.
Still in my soul
I recall the white cloth,
the wrapping of the knots,
around my wrists, those gentle twists
of rough linen
binding me.
I recall the softness
of the humming priests,
the monks and holy freaks
as they washed my feet,
and blessed me.
I recall the rosewater
sprinkled on the other daughters
said to be born of celestial beings
crowned in wreaths of grief
of innocence breached
harked by the women’s keenings.
I recall the hot breath of the heifer
her right eye bulging
her hide high in quiver
as they cut deep
and she bled before me.
I recall that that the blood they did offer
spilled vermilion and tasted of copper
to the great granite altar
as though the blood that gushed forward
were of the priest,
and not of the heifer to offer.
I recall that my hair was long
and my dress pristine
as they stood serene
smiling benign with quartz-eyed clarity
and held the dagger aloft me.
I recall the bloody pedestal
where I stood impeccable
as the ravenous ghosts of the citadel
stood below
their hollow eyed gazes upon me.
I recall the endless inhale
the breath of a thousand infidels
wheezing as the blade caught my neck
and then as crimson spatter followed speck
salvation,
it gushed fresh from me.
Dear ‘holy’ ones
don’t forget,
you sent out your daughters to pay the debt
for the land that you did not respect,
for the tenets to which you did not commit.
How was it that you didn’t expect
that unwilling sacrifice bears no credit?
Gods are gods and greed is greed
the innocent cannot be spent to meet your needs
With your blade you parade divinity
still though you can expect no saviour
if you cannot see
it is your own cowardice
and ravenous apathy
what hath damned your destiny.
Sionnachaí 