Soulskin Poetry for the Magdalenes

Photo: Kylie 'Ma Bower'

Fragments of Light Returning

Such a gentle and holy reclamation
of power and birthright,
so exquisitely feminine and encompassing,
allowing the deep grief to gently swell and fall
knowing the futility of drowning in the depths
of the horror of withheld love,
only humbly touching the edges
of that unfathomable pain
of lives lived in such shadow.
So gently we danced,
like fragments of light
upon the surface of the well,
summoning that which longed to move
from that place beneath,
from the deep waters.
As we summoned our strength
from the wellsprings of memory,
through  the dappled sunlight of ancient green
forests of the heart,
seeking the seer,
reclaiming the word,
reforming the container,
stronger now and more true.
A radiant gathering of pilgrims we were,
with brimming hearts and a myriad of colours
displayed in our feathers,
in the twinkling eye 
and the joy of our togetherness,
the sweetness of it a flame 
so artfully tended
by that Lady of the Swan,
she of the water and the word,
We journeyed deep, deep into the past
and returned ancient and wise
and more free than we had been when we left,
we returned with animal companions,
a wild menagerie in our midst,
and with us the wise ones of our blood-lines,
all gathering, strong and open,
to aid the passage of the women and children
of the Magdalene Laundries.
With a raucous reverence we walked,
we drummed and we rattled,
we danced and we sang.
Beloved sister the beacon 
and shepherd of our song.
Our bejeweled feet thumping their love
through the foundations
to caress the bones that lay below.
Gathering into the heart of our mighty sound
the lost and the silent,
the trapped and forgotten ones,
the ululation of our feelingness
enlivening the air
awakening the unseen
and calling them to return
as we wind our way back now,
to the ancient river, sparkling.
The trees bending close to hear,
swaying and dancing with the glistening sunlight,
their celebration and resonance
with this timely passage of freedom.
Our voices still entwining,
weaving the warp and the weft of the basket
that would be their boat.
And by the waters edge,
our taproots entwining with the roots
of that vast and ancient tree of life
in the heart of the Earth, our Mother.
Silent now, deep in the medicine of this mystery,
the sole voice, so intimately sweet,
the song resounding from she
who is so strong to be so soft and still be heard.
And we feel them finding their own way now,
the one's that would come,
the Magdalenes, the forgotten ones,
home to the Waiting One’s,
the air alive with the subtle vibrations of their release,
the bindings falling free,
the light returning to that which has dwelt
so long in the shadow.
Wordless now and feeling the fine filaments of love,
entraining the universe,
as though there was suddenly more room
for sunlight and love,
more room for forgiveness
and fearless becoming.

Lucy Pierce © 201

Lucy is the artisan who created the sculptures of mother and child in the centre of our medicine circle at the convent. You can see more of her living sculptures (to me they look like they are almost breathing), exquisite poetry and artisan treasures at Soulskinmusings and
'Together' by Lucy Pierce