back toJacket2

February 2004  |  Jacket 25  Contents  |  Homepage  |  Catalog  |  Search  |

Clayton Eshleman


Out of peat, rock, chump, gorse
— are you the Irish Persephone?
imprisoned in a wall, crone
cuntradiction, skeletal
           Yet the lower body holds open
to Hades? Is there an Irish god of death?
If there was, at 1200 AD, Sheela was his “bride.”
It is her knob-faced sickle-shadow in
reburgeoning oaks.
Her ribs bear breast paws.
Bishop’s whore, cardinal’s whore.
Life gate, hole, Dyadic apotropaion.
Compounded with negation, Sheela affirms.

Hunkered down, like her, I take a draught of the menstrual
          orgasmic earth.
In my throat I feel her elixir, its black middle rainbow

“Now,” purrs the cycloptic dwarf by the door,
“you have touched upon the Crone Congress.
Lightning will strike through your dreams.
In the greenish glare you’ll see the Sheelas,
like tots, dancing the Formorian jig.”

[Dublin, 2003]

Jacket 25 — February 2004  Contents page
Select other issues of the magazine from the | Jacket catalog | read about Jacket |
Other links: | top | homepage | bookstores | literary links | internet design |
Copyright Notice: Please respect the fact that this material is copyright. It is made available here without charge for personal use only. It may not be stored, displayed, published, reproduced, or used for any other purpose

This material is copyright © Clayton Eshleman and Jacket magazine 2004
The URL address of this page is