for Iris

There is fate

I hear it calling   distantly,

I had not reckoned that it knew my name

but he did           and spoke it

with an eloquence I would not have

associated with a poor

upbringing-         we are poor (I)

in moral fibre and perhaps character,

so they say         of me and I behave

only to your expectation.

You see this love and assume

the demons caught beneath,

under the net of capture are yours.

Why

                why

is there per         sist         ence

in memory,

I cannot will it so or         stow its feed or

stem its hunger.

I watch dutiful

Catholics recounting vows

hopeless and lost,

for her sins of innocence-

understand mighty,

I thank Iris

for delivering this body

complete to its road.

There are many paths

to lead hope astray,

they remark on fragility

yet seemingly engrossed by the frailties

of a woman grasping

at womanhood she believed

denied to her.

I feel the tug of reality

pulls at wounds gripped

by a recall-

manufactured efforts,

if they are wrong

then am I held together

by misguided hope,

string     twine and glue.

Deliver me from evil,

                I prayed or pray- yet

you never came.

Now I am alone with her

Priestess,

                 protesting beautifully

in a language I cannot speak

                but find myself agreeing

too.

Copyright: Samantha Ledger 2011