Wednesday Evening Poetry Blogging: Samhein Edition



~ Annie Finch
(The Celtic Halloween)
In the season leaves should love,
since it gives them leave to move
through the wind, towards the ground
they were watching while they hung,
legend says there is a seam
stitching darkness like a name.

Now when dying grasses veil
earth from the sky in one last pale
wave, as autumn dies to bring
winter back, and then the spring,
we who die ourselves can peel
back another kind of veil

that hangs among us like thick smoke.
Tonight at last I feel it shake.
I feel the nights stretching away
thousands long behind the days
till they reach the darkness where
all of me is ancestor.

I move my hand and feel a touch
move with me, and when I brush
my own mind across another,
I am with my mother’s mother.
Sure as footsteps in my waiting
self, I find her, and she brings

arms that carry answers for me,
intimate, a waiting bounty.
“Carry me.” She leaves this trail
through a shudder of the veil,
and leaves, like amber where she stays,
a gift for her perpetual gaze.

Published in Eve

Picture found here.

2 responses to “Wednesday Evening Poetry Blogging: Samhein Edition

  1. That’s for sharing this tonight ; )

  2. Today I was trying to lick into shape an old skeleton of a villanelle that I’ve had hanging about, with rather unforgiving refrain lines “A sundial motto for a grave” and “There is no sunlight left to save”. And the next thing I knew, I had this, in a rough and wordy form that got thinned out while I was sitting listening in our writers’ group. (Still work in progress.)



    Huntress Spirit, as the cave
    artist who felt the air move
    beside her in its steady breath
    (silent, dry) drew all that death

    of bison, horses, deer—alive
    still here, though we have lost her grave,
    were you there, hunting myth
    amidst the always dying truth?

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