I’ve gotten used to coastal cool in summer.
Its November here in Aberdeen, unbearably hot.
I have walked the streets of my child years today
and now know it lives only in my memories.
Its dry, dusty and hot and it never felt very friendly anyway.
In winter its achingly beautiful...
always buy in summer.
I only come back for the memories;
to bring a wilting bunch of flowers for Mum and Dad...
plucking a few stray flowers
to distribute to grandparents and others we knew... now long dead.
Thanks for the memories Aberdeen...
maybe I am what I am, who I am, whatever that is
partly because of you...
Thanks for nothing else.
I have not forgotten nor forgiven
the cruelty and the grasping crude commonness
you boxed around my poor mother’s head,
when she should have been folded lovingly,
into the bosom of the people she was part of.
Yet I remember the heaven of our home, and yard...
our island, and all honour to my parents for that glorious gift.