Wendy Jean MacLean is the 3rd place winner of Streetlight’s 2020 Poetry Contest
Fenced in by the property owner
the beehive hut
of an Irish monk
as it has for fourteen centuries.
Three euros will get you in
through the gate
with the added bonus
a pen of baby lambs
you can fondle
(Behold! The lamb of God!)
Inside the hut
the owner has stored his gas tank
and his electric sander.
(Behold! Sins worn down on demand!)
The sharp cliffs and fierce waves
have not changed over the centuries.
The monk would recognize their call to humility
and ceaseless prayer.
If he sees us, he will wonder
what we are looking for.
Like him, we have been drawn by the green mountains
and the distance from the life we know
to a world that speaks across time.
Unlike him, we did not leave our belongings:
We return to the source.
We hold the lamb.
We cross the boundaries.
We hope we belong somewhere green.
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