by Kim Fahner
for Mary Maddison
She says that I am a private worrier,
but I only hear warrior—
leaning into her West of Ireland accent,
cupping my ear to hear her fortune:
The shamanic healer is yourself.
You create heaven on earth for yourself,
and for those around you.
Gorse and heather and country ways draw you,
but you have aquamarine here, and it’s of the sea. . .
(Are you drawn to the sea, then?)
The fish is telling you to go with the flow of life,
and there you have a blessing from the Blessed Mother,
and soon, dear girl, your boat comes in!
You felt the feeling of what you were saying,
what you were wishing, whether yesterday
or years ago, and that wish became a prayer.
Her words, gathered up like stones from a bowl,
scattered on a road near Eyeries, my hands
casting them out into the gravel so that I can
find my way home again, afterwards.
— from Juniper Volume 1, Issue 2