For months, desperate I have sought the song
of the sea, so certain, beloved. Mired, foundered
here, I endured the stamp and tramp of cloven feet,
the clinging odour of iron-shod clumsy creatures.
I yearn for sand patterned by wavelets, graffitied
by the grip of razor shells. Moon-glints will lead me
to the known - to cod, crabs, to octopus, back home
to my own people, silken and sure as deep night.
On this long-unknown, never-touched ground
I study the audacious tangle of lichen and loam.
Desperate to cast off the dirt, dust and sweat of men,
I cherish the bright tang of kelp sweet in spindrift.
In this burning forge of flesh, I am land-rooted,
snarled like the trees gripped in parched forests.
Trembling I long for the comfort of my pelt, for
water’s embrace.Time it was over. Time to escape.
Finola Scott tries to unravel world events. Trembling Earth, her latest pamphlet, considers the Climate Crisis. Her widely published poems gain competition success including winning the Ulster-Scots competition. Find her in The Irish Pages Press, Consilience, Lighthouse, New Writing Scotland. Read her at FB Finola Scott Poems & https:http://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org./FinolaScott
More work by Finola Scott
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