Prayer For Your Hunger

She was born a baby in Cookstown

with the sun spillin' over Belfast 

an' Lough Neigh in the East.

Summer was a wanin' moon then

grown frail

in the bounty of her birth.

The comin’ of crone

was spoken’ in whispers 

among the trees 

as they set about quakin’ 

in the coolin’ air. 

It was september, 

when my mother was born. 

She stood at the edge of her hunger

where a bounty

and a fallow field

turned the pages of 

yellowin’

time 

to death. 

She washed down her dreams

of the west

with vinegar

butter

an’ sugar 

her blessed hunger

oh, her blessed hunger

may she know the spring

an’ may she love the summer

her blessed hunger

oh, her blessed hunger

may she know the spring

and may she love the summer