By Deirdre McGarry
I thought I saw him coming towards me briefly
across the water out of a seafret
not in the water but on it
crossing from Begerin or where it used to be
towards the moored up trawlers and tacky muddled jumble
of Georgian grandeur and purple funland
where he disappeared
And I wondered why he felt the need
to emerge again from Ibar’s adopted home
that yew coloured visitor who made his home
here before Patrick
having travelled I guess from the deserts of Egypt via Wales
looking for some far flung place to prove
that God is everywhere and anywhere
and sometimes worst of all nowhere to be found
I know his hard hermit of a life was of value
whether we in Wexford knew it or not
that he imbued this place with his struggle and his search
and that his blessing rests in the soil
we transported and disrespected centuries later
to make way for boats and to create the North Slobs
Is it any wonder the geese
the wild geese symbols of the Holy spirit
whose migration routes we cannot plot
those wild geese
come to rest each year on that soil where his soul seeped?
And why should I be surprised
at the reappearance of that man walking on water ?
water where Cromwell’s victims were driven to drown
who clung to their faith in spite of him and felt his wrath
And this bridge where I see the miracle
also saw the bodies of men swinging
men who were hung at the whim of a frenzied mob in ’98
when the devil became incarnate
and for what?
The trouble is so many are drawn now
to the dark water
are tempted to seek oblivion rather than a Saviour
are seduced by the lure of suicide as a solution
Could this man who walks on water
cleanse this water of its death spirit
reinvigorate this town and land?
You know I think he could
I think this man and the Holy Spirit have that power
I really do
Do you?