Elizabeth Howliston, Orkney Wind

ImageThe wind picks away at the doors like a locksmith,

A scrabbling screaming child is loose above stairs,

Whistling a long lost song to the same old tune,

Wild hands pull on the skirts of the house.

There is a rattling and scratching at the windows,

Cold fingers push in the howling night into every crevice,

Eyes are rubbed sore, in shuddering sleep,

It is morning, and all is well, but it might not have been.


In a low field, for they all lie low, the calf is still,

The tin roof is off the barn, the seal pup waits on the shore,

Flattened oats carpet the fields, grey geese are fastened to the land,

One more Peedie house falls into a churning sea,

She rocks and rustles in her Orkney chair,

The chimney smokes, the last Elm isd own,

There are too few trees to lose even one, too late,

It is morning, all is not well, but it might have been.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: