S. J. Moran, Valentine

An English Wednesday



He’s buried there in Whitefriar Street
and they are buried too,
the disappeared,
all the matronly types I fell for
with their broken noses
like yours.

I never knew it was you,
I never knew!

There are different tears
from different wellsprings,
ones that only know themselves
why they flow
silent as Marian statues
where the sackcloth urchins
behold miracles in blue and white,
silent as the widower
who dips fingertips only in the font
and waits
by the Stations of the Cross.

I drink holy water
from the tin cup on a string
and try to re-hydrate
the ashes and dust
of all the harbour girls
and sanctified ballerina

Sleep, and let me sleep with you -
with St Valentine in Whitefriar Street.

©S. J. Moran is an Irish writer based in London. His poems and short stories have been published in magazines and anthologies. He is married with one grown up son. Website: sjmoran.com

photo©Stratos Fountoulis-agrimologos.com -”a chaque automne”


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