Coming to Shiant Island
The sea
thins. The birlinn’s bows
part the
fog like a finger through milk.
Below, the
blue underworld of the Minch
still
churns and roils, clutches at your keel.
The wind
keens. What you were
peels away
astern. No journey
worth making
is easy. Here what you
learn will
come from winter gnawing
the
shingle, the play of cloud on sea,
the fires
you succeed in igniting;
from the
endurance of turf and granite,
the
puffins’ lack of fear. You will make
your home
in light and storm and rabbit-
scat, in
the arms of the four winds.
The keel
grinds on the shoreline.
You step
out. The future begins.
© Roselle Angwin
from Kathleen M Quinlan in Envoi
ReplyDelete'one-by-one, we followed/your word crumbs,/listening to your voice/until we heard our own.'
It seems apt. Quinlan writing about following journey of Mary Oliver.
love, Marg
Marg, that's lovely. Thank you for it. Must resubscribe to Envoi! With love, Rx
ReplyDelete