The Sacrament: Dedicated to All TDs, Priests and Maker-men

In a garden dreaming, she awoke to the cold, the dirt and the envy.
Whispering voices guided her soft, attuned ears as she cried at her pain.
She had bled once.
She, then, felt they needed her to bleed again.

She knelt next to him.
Him who, like Him, had called to her like dreams, promises
With force and passion
He had taken her;

Too much LSD, and what muddied landscape she had “sullied”.
Blood of the hymen!
Hebrew, cut, woman:
The words dangled in front of her,
Like fallen pages of the books she had read.

The day that followed her mother was happy.
Her daughter was happy.
Her father, like the Father,
Hugged his little one safe home.

In the weeks that followed, she was not to write in her diary.
She had been bold, foolish, no daughter of mine!
Whore, once....

Heart fluttering, fluttering
Filling, racing
And a stream of tears carried her to the maternity ward;
Where agonisingly her 15 year old vagina stressed and convulsed in pain
And her baby
Adam, screaming up at the garden that could free her
Adam, man,
Was born of woman
And baptised shortly thereafter.