This Land by Olive M Ritch

This Land

What is this land to me,
what is Westray, Papa Westray,
what is Fara, Cava, what is
Flotta with its flame?

What is Hoy – home
of selkies and whitemaas,
and music scored
on Rackwick’s cliffs?

What is this land to me,
what is the Ring of Brodgar
where peedie hands
fingered time?

And fed-up feet
pattled dark soil, drookled
in the bluid o’ Norsemen.

What is this land to me,
what is Stromness
with its naming stone
and narrow streets
entering the minds of sons
and daughters?

Histories
following ramstam women
down chattering closes, and men
warming beer with brute hands
and bruising banter, afore facing
the cold blackness.

What is this land to me
what is Orkney,v furrow upon furrow
of traits and traces, laid bare
in long summer nights of light?


(selkies – seals; whitemaas – seagulls; peedie – small; ramstam – headstrong; drookled – soaked; afore – before)
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