Sheela Na Gig, Rodel

by Lynn Valentine

Such a long road to drive.
I find you weathered by Harris winds,
worn in the smirr of rain,  
hollowed, unholy mother.

I seek your protection, projection
of fertility, one stopped hand
holding a child or a lamb;
the other lost in a shape
that meant something once

My barren belly
concaves in the wet
afternoon, my waterproof
the only second skin I’ll own.

Yet there’s hope in your arms,
the cleft in your legs, an open
                                    O
on the rough bricks of stone.