Treasure Island

Sally Evans

(1942 / London)

Aultbea


Lit from the houses,
evening sparkles grey.
Long curves cliff the dark
as we come to Aultbea.

After a wild drive,
winter picnics, deer
on roadside brae and moss,
we are at Aultbea.

Gaelic and English language poets
and local audience
from fifty miles each way,
converge upon Altbea.

In the tin-roofed village hall
warmth and welcome,
tables and lecterns,
candles, wine and tay,

as mild late-winter waves
wash over shore sand
into the beach-stones
along beside Aultbea.

After the poetry
we dash across a sky,
Poolewe to Gairloch,
away from Aultbea,

then single-track road
rolling and turning
to a sea-coast croft home,
Aultgrishan not Altbea.

back south next morning
we drive most of the day,
yet Aultbea and Aultgrishan
don't seem further away.

[2007]

Submitted: Friday, September 09, 2011

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