Nathracha

In my dream I
left a dreary church
and walked out into the
dark graveyard.
As I slid from the pew,
my Grandmother turned,
and tutted.

In the graveyard I walked
up a grey gravel
path. The grass on
each side was long
and damp,
and in the grass were
snakes.

My legs grew weak
as might a newborn
foal's. I feared
movement, lest they
be drawn towards me
as I moved away,
like plastic bags
and jellyfish that
drift in the bay.

And sure enough I'd
stepped but an inch
when a long thin fellow came
at me with his mouse-trap
mouth. I threw my shoes
(which I'd been carrying)
and ran away.

Back in the Church the
air was still and quiet,
my shoeless feet were
raw against the
cold stone.
No one noticed me
come in; I felt
alone.

When I woke
I felt betrayed;
I thought the snakes
had all been chased
into the sea.

Oh, Saint Patrick!
You have forsaken me.