‘Our Sleeping Women’ by Attracta Fahy

I think of my grandmothers, 
their faces etched in mine,
their strength sleeps in my bones.
We meet in fields of crows,
their voices speak through the wind. 

Old graves sloped down
from our farm. As a child,
I played house, tea sets
on tombs, innocent,
listening to spirits.
Daughters left to work
with duty not to themselves
but others who cared little
for the objects they’d become. 

From the clay they cry
the song of the crone,
dreams of the life unlived, hope
moves in the soil beneath
my feet, rises in my breath,
they call – willing me on
with their work. 

Don’t listen to scavengers
who have taken your use,
their fear ripping your pleasure.
Starve if you need, until you’re heard.
Scream yourself into your body. 

Your face ours, 
your womb creator, the only real home
your self.

From issue #6: spring/summer 2018

About the Author
Attracta Fahy’s background is nursing and social care. She works in private practice as a humanistic and integrative psychotherapist/supervisor, also facilitating group workshop/training. She lives in Co. Galway, and completed her MA in Writing NUIG in 2017. She is a mother supporting her three children through college.