Run with me to the abbey,
through farm gates,
to the live wire fence.
Run with me to the castle,
steps crumbling, spider’s webs
still wise in their grasp.
A sheela-na-gigh on a door post
grimaces — so much for the Divine Feminine.
It’s “feck off,” forever in stone.
From any stone wall, where I look,
fortune falls to a solitary rabbit
in a distant field. Once was love, or a song.
Once was forgetting, or leaping into darkness,
leading the way.
Meg Smith is a writer, journalist, dancer and events producer living in Lowell, Mass. Her poetry has recently appeared in The Cafe Review, Poetry Bay, Polarity, Raven Cage, Beliveau Review, and many more.She is the author of five poetry books. Her first short fiction collection, The Plague Confessor, is due out in fall 2020 from Emu Books. .She welcomes visits to megsmithwriter.com, facebook.com/megsmithwriter and @MegSmith_Writer.