Monastery Stones by Meg Freer Hurricane Lorenzo travels farther east and north than prior strong storms, then weakens and takes on a comma shape, at its tip a slim jet of gale-force winds that bites and bellows as it hits land, topples trees, causes flooding. The remains of hurricanes track across Ireland more often now. Clonmacnoise, no stranger to ruinous squalls— invaded, raided and ransacked by Vikings, Normans and native Irish, its buildings demolished and rebuilt until English soldiers took all they could move, even a large bell, smashed what remained, left only roomfuls of sky. Ancient believers sat in stone chairs to relieve sore backs, drank water pooled in cow tracks to cure tooth pain, leaned into a chapel alcove to ease headache, bestowed their ailments there in circles of pennies, buttons, pebbles. Modern visitors still do the same, weaving a spell of gratitude into the worn stones.
Meg Freer grew up in Montana and lives in Ontario, where she is a mother, writer, and arts administrator. Her prose, poetry and photos have appeared in journals such as Ruminate, The Madrigal, and Phoebe, and she has published Serve the Sorrowing World with Joy and three other poetry chapbooks. She is a contributing editor for Traces Journal, is poetry co-editor for The Sunlight Press, and belongs to the League of Canadian Poets. Find her published work on her Substack blog, Meg Freer.
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