Sheela of the sweet breasts fed the early
Celtic saints with the milk of her spirit
and the inexplicable and divine
fire of her thighs. They walked on her flesh; and wine
soaked the hems of their chasubles, where it
frothed and foamed like the blood of the pearly
bodied Christ who hung in stark submission
upon his suffering tree. She was the Great
Mother of All: hers was the mouth from which
issued forth all men, all souls, all flesh — stitched
into the tapestry of freight and weight.
Her loins spoke of flesh and blood, emission
after emission, the river of blood
where sport the demonic humours and efts
of fiery heavens that clothed their naked souls.
She was the wisdom that brought forth the wholes;
God the Father spoke the Word: she gave it heft.
Sheela and her womb unfolded the bud.
[T J O’Hare is the author of Amnesiak: Blood Divinity (Spero Publishing).]