The veil must be thin today.

Standing at the kitchen sink watching the vapors rise from the rooftops,

I feel them near.

The women.

The pungent scent of wet moss arrives.

The rain falls in sheets between bursts of brightness as the grey washes over me in tides.


I watch my baby daughter's dream smiles.

Wondering if she feels the tender touch from days long past.

Does she feel the way ages seep into each other and lives reverberate through time, across shores?

Nothing’s gone.

Nothing’s as it seems.

Listen to the layers that are speaking.

Telling tales of the new myth we are making.


In the cloaked presence of my mother’s mothers I remember.

I stand in a lineage once set to flames.

They offer a tender love,

Shoots of fresh green, and a welcoming.

I lay a butter and oat cake offering.


Then to my boy pantless,

Dancing to the mandolin,

Just as Mickey and Johnny did.

His face a painting,

Ruddy cheeks and fuzzy curls,

My heart shatters with every balloon filled twirl.


The veil must be thin today,

An open door,

Because the song of those who’ve been croons thickly in my skin.

As if it was never gone.

I feel a gusty wind.

And the shadow of a good lady singing to the moors.