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Cailleach Bheur

A single stream of rain pours from a damaged gutter,

blows slantwise in the heavy gusts,

a straggling thread from the long grey gown of

Cailleach Bheur, Hag Queen of Winter,

bringer of storms.

Some say she is one-eyed,


with bad teeth and

matted hair.

I say she is a painted woman

dressed in grief, standing

barefooted in icy waters, screaming


I say she is mother of a lost child,

face puffed like a blowfish;

I say she is wife of a sailor asleep in the sea,

womb-clenched against emptiness;

I say she’s a teenaged girl with a razor.

Cailleach Bheur


one size fits all.

In the night I am alone, one light out of a hundred black windows as

through the hours the wind-crone

hurls herself at the old hotel:

I can frighten you, she shrieks,

I can make you remember everything.

Too late

Cailleach Bheur


July 6, 2020 at 8:59:02 PM


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