Ode to Mary Rutherford

Mary was it you? Was it you who reached through

To the place they laid your body?

We drove the rural way, and then we stayed….

Murky energy and light, stinging rain, cold fingers.

Mary was it you? Was it you who reached through…
Reached through the veil to rise and walk
Amidst the flower carpet on the tiny trails
At the top of the hill above your grave?

Isabella all alone, the real reasons never known
Mary was it you? Was it you who reached through
To cast angelic glow on the forest floor
And whisper a hush to all the trees growing there
So straight and tall, smooth, grey beech standing in a strength we could feel

For what is a witch, really?
But one who walks with nature close to the rain and wind
And knows the ways of herbs and plants and healing
Motherly love encased in soft soul, barefoot on sweet grass?
Faery paths, tiny basket left, do you return to carry it?

Mary was it you? Was it you who reached through
From your grave to listen there, in the shadows of the evening
Sad hill, broken stones, plots forgotten and in disarray
Unkempt in the lonely wind, this holy ground dishonored
Mary was it you? Or do you hide still? … the girl who needed to be hidden
For old reasons no longer valid, mired in vintage thought, useless shame
Mary, have you reclaimed your freedom, do you laugh and run and dance?

Did you learn to sing your own song?

Mary, was it you who touched me?

cailin raine