I Unfold the Map, by Suzannah Goss

I Unfold the Map

I unfold the map

And pore over the lines of red, blue, dashes of black

I’m working in a continent away—

so I daydream...

First to Leswalt kirk to visit relatives recently passed

where I’ll pause a while and trace my surname

on granite stone and across to the Port to visit living ones.

Being hugged fast like a child again

Inhale the unfettered glee of young cousins.

Soon, the balance in the room shifts to those

who seek attention most.

A ferry chiselling through The Sheuch

far below coastal cliffs.

Gazing far northwards to Arran,

Gaoda Bheinn concealed in silver bossed clouds.

And remembering the past... roaming

the lochans and cols of Kirriereoch.

I can almost taste the peaty summit of Merrick;

windswept and sweaty from winding,

climbing ancient paths of shale and scree.

The horizon hunkers under squid-ink clouds—

retrace footsteps ahead of the returning rain.

Or driving to the Mull for the day...

carrying rucksacks, six-packs and Rosé;

impatient for the petrels, puffins and guillemots.

Lying in the knotted grass, high above a dulcet sea

level with searching, pallid seagulls and eager bright-eyed dogs,

nose and shoulders poached by the sun.

Or losing myself in shelves lined floor to ceiling—

in old bookshops, and finishing the day at the harbour.

A favourite pub, meeting up with friends for a dram

engrossed in circling the same old mirth-making eddies;

tread paths that the Scots Queen once did on the way home.

Here, the rain falls in white sheets,

rivulets carry away topsoil,

lines of magenta soldier ants march across the garden

Water spills over the doorstep,

the power cuts out and no Wi-Fi again.

I return to work, trying to find balance in our ways

and keep the ancestral paths of elephants.

Far away from home—I fold away the map.

by Suzannah Goss, from her winning collection 'In Between Places’