Extracts From The Crucifixion Bird
Here is an extract of a poem from 'The Crucifixion Bird', (Cruachan Publications, 2000).
The Oldest Profession
The man amongst men pauses.
His minders eye me up and cameras cast
light’s virtual dust in my eyes.
Under this modest linen I grow conscious
of my working throat and thighs.
His feet know what it means to be used
- streaked and dripping, cut and sore –
and his eyes – eclipsed suns – know more.
He smiles, I kneel – the camera-crews
draw lots they love us so – to ease
the world-soiled leather from his feet.
My skilful hands, this veil of hair,
the complex kiss I shape to honour him,
could be a mother’s laying her young son out;
or greeting her seraphim.
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