Poetry Map of Scotland, poem no. 158: Findhorn Bay


Where the bay births the sea
the world opens, distances stretch,
a wide sky yawns blue.
I’ve seen water retreat, reveal dark sand
patterned by tides, then pour back in to drown
those hieroglyphs again.
The village holds the bay like an arm,
we grew here like grasses over dunes,
felt so sure we belonged.
In this light pebbles look like those little
eggs you buy at Easter. I pocket one, save
it for later in the city

where I will place it on my tongue
taste the surprising sting of salt,
remember this place
where I was not born,
where I am not from,
that I still call home.

Sophia Argyris

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