Aisling to Aislynn
By Niall Twohig
An Aisling by Pieere-Cécile Puvis de Chavannes
Last nite,
you awoke screaming,
driven too quick from Dream
to a skin you didn’t yet recognize,
to a room and land defamiliarized.
You called for Ma.
But I came instead.
Your whole being
negates my being:
You lash out,
swing, pinch, bite
because I am not Ma.
I don’t understand in the moment.
But now, Muse guides my hand:
In Dream Time,
You are the Goddess,
armored and enamored
in Green.
In Dream Time,
You have your land,
Your struggle.
All Your fierceness
has its focus:
Invaders
who will
enclose You,
rape You,
uproot You,
starve You.
In Dream Time,
You have your people
who rally to You,
who chant to You,
who die for You.
In Dream Time,
You are their shield
and spear.
In Dream Time,
You enwomb them
as they starve.
In Dream Time,
You rebirth them
from blight and rot.
In Dream Time,
You are roots
that can’t be hedged.
In Dream Time,
You are ten thousand
galloping horses
at full stride.
Sound
startles You
from Dream,
as I was startled
from Dream in 1986.
I awoke to New York City,
but you land in this little body,
laying here, San Diego 2024.
Half awake,
the last bit
of Goddess cries
for the form you were in Dream Time: Ma!
The last bit
of You lashes
at the form that threatens Dream Time: Man.