Alba Gu Braugh

by Carolyn Lawrence | 2008

Beneath the green of your hills, I buried my heart and prayed it to grow.
Vine up like the bougainvillea, twist my veins upwards and outwards, around
and around you, so that I may never let go. Your sweetness filled my senses,
drawing me in as the wild flowers call forth the bumblebees.

But here, nestled in the earthen worn hands of a time I knew ago, I try to
call forth your sweetness again, and find only root bound thoughts
underneath my feet. I trampled upon greatness, let it decay in the grooves
of my soul, and rot.

You got mistaken for a memory, or a dream I had years ago, when I had you in
my arms. I wasted you away, in short breaths and half-hearted attempts to
take you all in. Hours spent flying high, higher than a person should dare
to tread without their own wings, I glided past your hills, and waves, and
rocky shores. Past your ancient grounds and Druish stones.

I took for granted the richness that is you.

And at night, when the gulf stream swells up in the west, and blows the salt
air towards my window, I whisper your name, in the hopes that my heart will
wash upon your shore again. Tread against your tilled land once more. Bury
myself in the earth that is my home.

And I pray that you don't mistake me for a memory...

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