Shetland

I must someday . . .

Set foot on your shores;

see for myself the true green

of your craggy fields

reflected off the bonny azure

of your boreal sea

while brine mists my face

in brisk salty sprinkles.

Stand where sheep dot the hills

(like daisies do rolling spring meadows

or roadside ditches in my home) . . .

where ponies the size of some dogs

parade children across pastures.

Hear wieldy waves hit

your harbor and

huge rocks jutting

from the base of high hills

broken by years of battering force.

Speak to those who live within

your rock-and-sea-bound borders

who cherish a life

more alone than most

as they bare their souls

to the beauty that binds them.

Understand their stoic resolve

of rejoicing in “balmy” days

still requiring a light jacket

and island-knitted hand warmers.

Listen to the accent of voices

molded by two ancient tongues

of separate folk

who bumped into the same

abandoned beach

—neither here nor there—

—a land between a destination—

Kathleen A. Dorholt

NAPOWRIMO

April 3, 2021