The Initiation of the Priest

I was held down, strung up, locked in, locked out,
I looked for myself, but I wasn't at home-I had no home-
And all the time, I felt someone was looking for me,

Once or twice we saw angels,
We tried to talk to them, but no words came out;
They spoke to us, but we had lost our ears.

I grew up with death;
It was a secret in my heart-
I told no-one, not even myself.

But sometimes we sang, stories of a girl with dark hair,
Of ships stealing away into the night, of people in the streets, dancing
But these are memories, dreams - pay no attention.

My daughters are not my daughters.
They belong to God.
They came golden, and grew into blessings, and are beautiful

And all the time, when our fingers touch, whether in need or in pain, in desire or in laughter,
I hear your voice change. Does mine change too?
The unshed tears-are they yours or mine?

It is raining today. I cup my hands and taste the sweet water, it is wine.
I raise my arms, the golden liquid runs down my arms, my back, my legs, to the earth.
The grass can grow again.

And I turn, this way, my arms calling, that way, my body trembling.
And turn again to face the Pole star,
To pray, to kneel, to open, to stand.

It is all I need do
It is all I can do.

Martin Jaquess