As they boarded the Brilliant at Tobermory,
holding baby Alexander close, Effie looked
over her shoulder to Donald, who read her
stricken gaze, grieving those lost in the year
just past, Catherene, aged five and Margaret,
aged three, left on Tiree, beneath the turf.
Donald shouldered a metal bound trunk.
Behind him, son Archie dragged another.
The others trouped after, like ducklings
parading in spring. ‘Cha tul sinn yu bráth,’
said Donald, as the boat pull away from
the pier. To Effie, he offered his cuisleach
for tears, though nothing could ever erase
her sorrow, her heart to remain Tirisdeach.

As we disembark the ferry at Scarinish,
I search the pier for a face familiar despite
passage of two centuries. I find Harry,
the fisherman who rents us the car and van.
We follow him along the road by Gott Bay
to Caolas and on to the site near Miodar.
He shows us how to light the gas. I ask him
about the lobster catch. He mourns the prices.
Tomorrow, I maunder the graves at Kirkapol.
Might either of the children left behind lie
under the stones submerged by the peat?
Tonight I stand on the ridge above the beach,
discerning the cries of grey seal pups blown
on the wind across the strait from Gunna.

**

Andrew Leggett is an Australian writer and editor of poetry, fiction, interdisciplinary academic paper and songs. His latest collection of poetry Losing Touch was published by Ginninderra Press in 2022. He is an Adjunct Associate Professor with the James Cook University College of Medicine and Dentistry.

P76 issue 9: Poetries of place/ displacement/ diaspora/ odyssey: On-line Edition. Table of Contents