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Love in sacrifice zones

The underdog was always her favourite.

In broken countries there are many.

The land ripe for extraction, pollution and rampage.

The air burned.

The water glowed.

The soil stank.

The spirit of the people strong through centuries of struggle. 

Ancestors robbed, bullied and blamed. 

Giant lakes gifted to Earls.

The people a productive inconvenience 

Irish Peasants, not overlooked, colonially buggered by Kings. 

Savages in the North, they told themselves. 

They got rich in their profit sports, souls tainted. 

The good people grew kinder, the elite’s malice nowhere to hide. 

Caravans in trees 

Speeches

Marches

Signatures

High Courts

Death threats

Their resistance had been fertile. 

Friendships grew and communities United to protect waterways, hillsides and children’s future. 

Dead loughs are money-makers.

Thriving businesses depend on a loss of life.

The enemy the governments they are forced to pay to protect them. 

Love forgives, but trauma is hard to forget.

This fight for land is not new.

Their desire to protect and preserve coming from the purest of places.

Their victory a win for all.

Even those they are forced to face.

Love

Doesn’t allow us to settle.

She inspires us to evolve.

Sometimes wildly

Sometimes gently

Always in the interest of our good.

An actualisation agent.

Conversations with God

Sitting by rivers, especially in Tyrone. 

Soothes the soul. 

Never knowing what a person might see. 

Over a year ago. 

Soft gaze. 

Drawn to object in water, other side to me.  

Focus.

Seen, the dead. 

A sheep fallen in, never to exist exit. 

Ewe in fact. 

Metaphors are cute. 

That sight and site.

Not lost on me.

I wanted a sign. 

It came clear on that day. 

Rivers kill women, sink them. 

Tread carefully. 

Women drowning. 

History witches were wasted.

Sheep that stray, might meet their maker. 

When searching for water.