By Emma Towey
“Hush, hush now. My sweet little lamb”.
The once crimson cheeks a deep purple.
Chubby little child, she thought.
Little ashen arms limp
the muffled cry ceased.
“I won’t let them take you away.
God will take you back now…
Put you back in his pocket.”
The lily-white night gown, serum stained,
Transubstantiate.
Tenderly wrapped corpus delicti
in the turf scuttle.
“Thanks be to God for the cloudy sky this night” she shivered.
Disrobed.
Unveiled.
She dons the oversized wellies and drudges
down the boreen to bury her shame.