Chris Murray

Eamon Ceannt Park; a cycle

I.

Ingress.

Her boot leathers are wet, grass -greened.

Things have gone aground at the grove,

only the fairy-ring stands in her circle

of spectral gowns,

her parasols all caught up in a breeze of light.

Her wood-clattery heels sound

against the stones at the gate.

Against a cluster of coppered leaves;

their outsoundings , a filigree.

II.

Inscription.

The park is scattered as after a storm.

The destruction is knave-wrought.

A crescent moon is inscribed into the soil

by the small grove,

a willow weeps by its exit.

And the sky is close as goose down.

The geese screel and beat overhead,

someone has sprayed yellow paint on his memorial stone.

III.

There is a man in the stone.

The dew is playing fire at her feet,

wetting her legs.

A legion of rooks guard his stone.

IV.

Stasis.

The route through the groves is frozen today;

even the treetops are caught in ash.

There is no mistaking this scene for a balletic stasis.

It's stick-strewn.

A cold sun rises above the minarets 

at  park's edge.

And the sound of bells emanates from behind somewhere .

She is glad to leave,

glad to kick the ice from her feet against the stones.

V.

The Queen's Rook.

And what if she entered that garden wearing her last veil?

The others being ripped by fierce wind and claw.

The willows lash her face

driving her into estatic groves.

The only thing seeming alive in this desolate place

Is the Queen's Rook.

He stalks above her veiled head,

his call drowning in his throat.

She heard a name.

VI.

Egress.

She looks back to the stone

From thence to the furrowed hill,

It is of ordinary green.

A rook is atop the gate.

She no longer sees the far away

lit by careeling crows.

The path is different by day.

Coda

It is dark beneath the tree.

And,

The rising sun has not yet caught

the edge of the stone.

And,

A clutter of dry debris, a black feather

is housed there.

And,

She would sing him if only he let her.

And,

"Intreat me not to leave thee

Nor to return from following after thee

For whither thou goes I will go .." 

she leaves.

Chris Murray is a City and Guilds Stone-cutter. Her poetry is published in Ropes Magazine, Crannóg Magazine, The Burning Bush Online Revival Meeting (Issue 1), Carty's Poetry Journal, Caper Literary Journal , CanCan and the Diversity Blog (PIWWC; PEN International Women Writer's Committee). She has reviewed poetry for Post (Mater dei Institute), Poetry Ireland and writing.ie. Chris writes a poetry blog at http://poethead.wordpress.com which is dedicated to the writing, editing and translation of women writers. She is a member of the International PEN Women Writer’s Committee, and the Social Media coordinator and Web-Master for Irish PEN.