Monaleen Church

Sitting in bed and working through poems published and unpublished. Even though I've been coughing a little bit of blood, I'm breathing well enough to get the all clear for now, so I'm home in bed, I probably shouldn't be looking at a computer screen while my head is raging, but I was never good at sleeping off sickness, I slept part of yesterday and that should suffice. 

I'm showcasing Monaleen Church as I think it's one of my best. It's a story, a conversation with and about a number of people but two leads. When it talks about the Easter Vigil, that's me. Or is it? You can all see that stretch of Dublin Road in the poem.

Monaleen Church

I remember from childhood,
the rain on the stone and earth of the walls at Castletroy.
I remembered—but couldn’t tell you—the feeling:
sitting in the day services, looking out at the rain.

I remember you.
I could read you, though you didn’t know.
You meant well. I miss you.

I remember Groody and Golf Links,
Dublin Road, home.
Music, dance, oranges.
Dancing Queen. I lived for my music.

I was with you
when you brought her home—
when you brought me home.
Answering God’s call without knowing.

A companion to dance, to laugh,
to love the music.

I remember the rain on the walls of Dublin Road,
the trees drawing night in early.
But most of all—
the Easter Vigil at Monaleen Church,
the bonfire blazing bravely.

May 9th.
December 25th.
Monaleen Church in full bloom—
the flowers, the beauty, the ache of it all.

So here I am.
Home.

A ghost made of ice crystals and fire embers,
soaring above Monaleen and Castletroy—
and in her, in her music,
in her dance with life...

I came home.

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