Poetry Map of Scotland, poem no. 233: Mull


Some look east
for mystic inspiration,
why must I stand
on a western shore
gazing at the Atlantic?

I come from the west,
from the sea.
When coracle and pilgrim
nudged the limpet-blistered rocks
I was there,
my long hair wet,
I twisted my hands
around a cross.

I knew the water then,
the foam lapped at my mouth.
I stood first on the west shore
waiting for others.
I waited so long,
while the east came west,
looking for me.

Lis Lee

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