They were all odd dancers.
Up on their toes,
twisting in an old wind.
Shifts turned to ragged sails
from long wrecked ships
still trying to take their home.
Spent nights wrapping
their bone fingers tight
into abandoned symbols.
Gathered at last on the hearth,
faces pressed against soot
for the strings not to pull
them up again.
Up onto their toes
to dance like strange, dying flames,
guttering the last of their wicks.
write a poem that responds, in some way, to another.NaPoWriMo2021 – Day Twenty-Three Official Prompt
I’m sort of responding to two different poems with this piece. The first is Robin Robertson’s ‘At Roane Head’ and the second is Niall Campbell’s ‘The House by Eriskay‘. You can read Niall’s piece at the Scottish Poetry Library site, but I first came across Robin Robertson’s piece when I was sent a link to the reading below. Both poets are utterly superb.