I, biddy early, come from the Red Hills.
My mother traveled under the cold sky
and carried me, her firstborn, on her back.
May the roads she walked stay with me till I die.
I am at home with hunger. For my bread
I learned to haul stones, scrub floors, and cook.
When Mother died, a wren taught me to read
the spells in streams and stones. Earth was my book.
The priest tells me, “Biddy, come to Mass.”
I say, “Father, when I kneel down alone
the people whisper things. I want to live
out of their sight, with crickets and cats and stones,
“and when I die, I shall give back to Earth
all her gifts for the healing of hurts and ills.
I shall come back in water and words and leaves,
I, Biddy Early, asleep in the Red Hills.”