GEIS Poem by Caitriona O'Reilly

I bruise my knuckles
against its smooth white walls.


Containment is in
the nature of a house,


but I would sooner
the berserker's filthy pelt,


sooner swallow hot coals
as proof against the blunt


force of iron, sooner a door
in the two-chambered brain


to let the dark in still
and through which the owl


might issue its summons.
The wound of the mouth closes.


To perish its roots
A radiant stone is placed on the tongue.