My father’s bones

the island is everything I am
I was born into it, made from it
like the rocks and sea and stars

what a wonderful thing
to know exactly who you are

tiny stones and sharp grasses
stick between my toes
on the path that my dad made
beside where his father’s bones lay

I want a spot where I can see the sea when I die
and I’ll be welcomed home with salty kisses on my cold cheeks
when the tide brings soft waves to wash over black gneiss
and machair flowers

is it normal to know where your bones will lie at the end of your life
before you’re even twenty-five?

ask me why I am not here and I hesitate
ask me Cò as a tha thu?
and I will tell you
I came out of this place

there was no mistake, a certainty that scares me
and grounds me
this place I hide away from, it is everything I am

The gift

If I could buy back this land

And plant my house on it

Live in it

Grow on it

Would you feel in this feat of resilience

A harbouring sadness

For this place

I was rooted in

I could not blossom in

When it should have nurtured me

all this time

Or would you see promised land

A business endeavour

A great gift

To buy back a piece of earth

That all along,

should have been mine

Pliers

I’m leaving this place soon
its dusty walls, my tiny room

I need to find somewhere to keep my photo frames,
my chipped mug, my bookcase

and the next time you need a reminder
of all the things you’ve done

a cup for your coffee,
a shelf to put your pliers on

remember me
and why I had to leave

Wake

sea spray
and the sound of the engine
summer trips to Little Bernera
winter trips across the Minch
most of my life
is followed by the wake of a boat

Four Paterson’s

Some of my favourite days
started
with bacon rolls and pineapple juice

Tall walls
in the smallest kitchen
 radio four on, The Archers then the news

some of my favourite days
started
with four Paterson’s

“what’s for tea” one would say
in the way, as we put our shoes on
and off out the Green door