I was watching Dancing at Lughnasa
while the Lughnasadh fires raged outside.
Woten’s-day turn to Frigg-day,
with no Thor’s-day in between.
Midnight blue faded to northern lights
and back again
without so much as a flinch.
The harvest came in while I ate a twinkie
so I pinched a layer of fat.
Surely – surely !– I am asleep.
Surely no one would be a spectator
to their own life.
Surely we would all be dancing at Lughnasadh
given the choice.