Poetry by Claire HM: In Our Lady We Trust

In Our Lady We Trust

You find yourself in the forest heart       beating in      your
thigh       old wound                       gaping               black red
streaming        over your boots and             into December
mud.        Hand it over to me.    There’s a gift in exchange
for trust.                 Hand it over        what gapes       open.
Hand over
                  
                                 the void

Your wound’s the red           eye               that  leads the way
down to the river           swaying as you go            sweetflag
shrinks back        so water flows                    freely as blood
on your thighs.         Hand it over to me.      Your fingers dig
in muscle    yelping     like Actaeon’s hound.   There’s a gift
in exchange                       for acceptance       there’s an old
bullet
                                          

         in your hand

With the bullet passed on       now the egret          swoops
over you       like petals             tumbling            her shadow
a cloak               her dark feet are                   autumn leaves
rich with                decay. She brings      Our Lady’s promise
              and the promise is to bring
                                                           

new life