Mary's Oratory

You knelt here, 
Asking for signs.
No candle or crucifix appears
Now,
But how much more sacred
Is this space
For how you paused,
Soul to the fragile window? 

Your string pearls, possessions,
They slithered through traitor's hands
Down and out of these rooms
But the muttering of prayers
Imprints on a place -
Or flutters somewhere
Men can't reach.

Carved out of a castle, 
This cove has sensory history - 
Just add the smoke, incense, or
Touch the wood, tangible.
But a spirit trying to transcend these panels
Is like me imagining you here
Through centuries -
The wanting to connect
Is eternal. 

LJ Ireton

White Hydrangea

I can't remember the songs I chose,

Or when it was, 

Who exactly was in the audience.

But I remember my dress:

Black with Aztec 

Diamond streams, strapless, 

Skirts to the floor - 

Because I held your bouquet of flowers against it under the spotlight

For the first time.

It was an extension of me - 

I cradled perfumed dreams

In plastic skirts that night,

My arms held film memories,

Revealed in white hydrangea 

Of applause and rewards on stage.

How many times had I performed 

And never felt this way?

All because you

Gave me flowers.

LJ Ireton 

2022

Meeting the rescued calf

I stroked the head of a calf

Saved from slaughter,
Settled in the straw but still unsure
Of what life is. 
With the lightest touch of my hand
On his soft forehead, 
Despair weighed down on my soul
That the other young cows were gone,
And willed so.

Not I. 

I try to communicate this to him - 
That I get my heart kicked by human feet under white tablecloths,
That I'd rather my heart be on a stable floor covered in mud and hay, anyway.
There is loneliness in reverence 
For his life - 

But not for him. 

LJ Ireton