Radcliffe Parish Church (of Saint Mary)

What are you standing on, Saint Mary
with your massive, sandstone feet?

What slice of time has been compressed, tissue thin
beneath the weight of your buttressed walls,
beneath the echoing stone floor,
beneath the bright windows, the altar, the cross,
the eagle’s golden wings,
beneath the feet and knees of uncounted generations,
and the pews worn smooth by a thousand backsides?

What were you standing on, Saint Mary,
before Bartholemew was sent away,
before the first graves were dug and filled,
before the first mass was spoken,
before the foundation stone was laid,
before the first plans were scratched out?

What brought you to this plot, Saint Mary,
to this spot, this site, this chunk of earth?

Who did you replace,
before the Normans raised their tower,
before the Saxons built their wooden halls,
before the one-God came and came again,
before weary Roman feet marched past heading north,
before you shook out your veil that night?

Are your gargoyles carved
in the images
of those who might remember?

March 2026


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