Rings on blade
Blacksmiths show metal no mercy,
hammer iron’s soul over again,
stop only to refire on glowing coals
that huffing bellows blow anew
to crackling incandescence.
How many times must we be fired red to white,
rigid selves heated to flowing atoms,
laid against anvils, pounded flat,
folded lengthwise, hammered, realigned
to ever stronger structure?
Brighid blesses babes in waves of nine,
pounds out adults nine times nine and more
to restore merit first perceived in pain
of childbirth’s transcendence; flame,
anvil, hammer, flame, anvil, hammer…
She sings to that rhythm lullabies
of stern command, ordering forth
waking devotion to her healing ways.
If payment is in pain it will be paid
in full, knowing life’s full worth.
Hammer’s ring on blade sings true and truer,
steel’s strength forged into something stronger,
fired past red, yellow, burning white.
Metal shrieks and hisses plunged in snow.
Beauty emerges, wreathed in steam.
We who have been through her forge
gleam keenly in sun or moonlight,
exquisitely tempered, keenly edged
as eagle’s cry or wing on sky,
diving to dance in battle.
~ Wry Welwood
25th of October, 2001
re-edited 11th of June, 2021.
Brighid (bree-ehd) is the patron goddess of many, including poets, blacksmiths and birthing women.
Thanks to Denise Larkin.
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