Beltane You said you’d marry me on Beltane, the Gaelic May Day, when life and earth are at their peak. You said I’d be your Flora, your goddess of Spring, we’d exchange hands and we’ d exchange rings; You said you’d merrily marry me, and forever be my Jack-in-the-Green. I said I’d jump brooms and jump fire, to unite earth and sky, spend night in the woods, gather blossoms and dew, I said I’d gladly be May Queen if the May King was you. But you never won my hand, you never even tried; we never jumped brooms, no hand knots were tied; you simply spoke of Beltane, and your Gaelic May Bride.
Originally published in the literary and arts journal, Parley. May 2020.
