Poem - Purple Heather on the Isle of Skye

Purple Heather on the Isle of Skye

Purple heather reminded me of the daughter that we had not had.

It was purple that you used so much until the house was Autumn.

It raised you, then her.

Then, as shadows seeped across the hills like oil,

I spent spare time imagining where she would be by now.

Curled, with a book, perhaps a man. I am not sure.

You were surer footed. You danced along. Wrecked everything.

Tossed off your shoes and ran on. Slammed doors. One in, one out.

I let the basics soak in. A skyful. I welcomed them; dark seasons.

There are four seasons in a day here. There is a long quick life here.

So that I imagined her, purple hair, humping gear at term time. 

I imagined me, my taxi rain rides, the approving shake of your head.

James A Bullion - June 2006