Buried Maidens
for SeamusHeaney
1939-2013
A flap of wings
and agitated rustlings
in the darkness
jar forth protective prayers
for mice and voles
and winks of thought
that barely lit
on the page of day
before the sky’s hunger
pitched down-devouring
as if commissioned by
some cleansing spirit
to sweep away all evidence
that these girls had lived,
had sipped dew from buds
or feasted on a wind-born grain.
Doggedly elders buried bones
in shale, whispering,
“Thus we will hide this history.”
But Seamus’s spade dug deep
into the mystery
and taught us how to read
the twisting motives
in our own soft guts
by learning how to dig.
Copyright © Bill Keen | Year Posted 2019
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