St Brigids Well

Still hallowed is the well, and so they pray, offer: prayer cards, candles, and bitty photos of children to come and those now unmade, each woman rife with grief in longing’s throes. The sound of stream shakes beneath their feet in the grotto chiseled from native stone. Niches, shelves and ledges teem, replete, with mementos of maid, mother and crone. Pain crusts on: salted wounds, walls and gelid moss where teddies and barrettes dangle on bows. Those lost appeal to Brigid, through her cross in summer, fall, and through the winter’s snows. A woman’s grief seeks relief at sacred stream here all who mother come to pray and dream. First Published in Eunoia August 19, 2015