At Knock Basilica: Place Of The Vision Poem by Sheena Blackhall

At Knock Basilica: Place Of The Vision



‘A day written off' a thick jowled tourist growled
‘Even the pubs are shut. This place is one long bore.'
From a biker's earphones a song seeps out
Guns and Roses, ‘Knocking on Heaven's door.'

One side of the street sells cots and religious gee-gaws
The other sells cards and gold-inscribed headstones
I bought myself a bargain, a black marble beauty
The Irish know how to commemorate dead bones

In the WC of this most sacred center
‘Ladies watch your handbags' a notice warns.
Even here there's a sinner?
‘When God made Time, Himself made plenty of it, ' a nun sighs
Kneading a rosary, her mind on dinner

Scarfed and booted against the bitter wind
Jacket collars up, coddling our cheeks
We shuffle from shrine to chapel
A wheelchair slows and creaks

Some light candles, touch the holy relic
Of a stone, coins wink in bowls
Prayers ascend to Heaven like Chinese lanterns
Masses are muttered for the repose of souls
I fill two plastic bottles with healing water
A Buddhist, hedging my bets
Think of the chosen believers
Trotting along, God's pets

Others donate 3 euros and write a name
That will be said at mass
The promise of all religions…Paradise, first class

Paying someone to whisper in Caesar's ear
If I wish hard enough, will my guilts disappear?
Like singeing the hair from a hen, before the pot
Lucifer watches. How long has anyone got?

Saturday, April 23, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: people
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