13 In Breton Poem by Cate HowellMurray

13 in Breton
is the intensity
stored
within
from outside
not
here
seeded

four words still embers
shouldered soldered yellowed
in-fatigues
Buddha blessings beyond
the graven, trodden Spirit
They were never done
Sitting Standing Stone
Storing
Within
Containing
Godheaded Women
Sacrificed on a wheel
To the black crows at the end of the bed
Sore sourdough
Storehouse of spent tendon breaking
Out of love
I awoke believing I had died
But you were still a keeper
With the power of the investment
I refused the Son and trusted the Father
Instead, I said you do it
I watched the birds
As Willow patterned Lovers
And knew I would know
Freedom 13,14
Violation
Violation
Violation
Violation
Pronounced
Exaggerated masculinity
Money stones
Revealed who you were to me
Sinister deceiver child
A shadow of you now feels loyalty
to the bonded, trusted, moral self
Sadness and sympathy extended
Through protocol
There is not one perfect man
There is not one name
There is one ego
To fulfill
To perfect
To criticise from inside
the Breton boat necked father, potter
I am ashamed K
I was not there
I was not there
In the garden
You were for me
Easy with paternalism
My grandmother, your mother
Terse and kind and gone
As you are
To lose you in this life
Is a disgrace
Without trial
Without living
13 is death Breton
Cruelest art
of the colonized class moaning
about his Punch..his drinking..
his ranting, stingy ramblings
Digger diligent Happy
Dog Bitch of Fate and Roses Faith
I hate it even as a thought
And so does Jean as Jean
But protocol prevents
So long


I hope 13 is kind and good as you
In ecstasy and rapture not vultures
or Craven ravens crowing judgement
Scorning pure immaculate fallibility
of love of pleasure and pleasing..
I hold you in the Highest
Of men

13 in Breton
I wish for you
I was wrong