FRAGMENTS

his father was

from farming folk

Braes of Munlochy

staunch man among

other staunch men

from the Black Isle

Eilean Dubh but

the language was lost

generations back

            *

she minds me 

of my brother’s

wife’s granny out

of Limavaddy :

that says a lot

            *

“the patient was an alcoholic

& alcoholics are known as more

likely to commit suicide”

            *

our language of deception

& our withheld truths

            *

his folk were travellers

that’s where he gets

his sense of justice from :

his right & wrong, his

spade is but a spade

all praise to the horsie-man !

            *

he’s been angered

by all the lies & deceptions,

not just his brother’s suicide

but this also :

procurator fiscal,

care home director

all the suited & recruited

lopazeman traces that don’t

tally, that can’t be traced

he’s been made angry

by all of this : he’ll not let it go

he’ll pursue just care for

his brother all the way

            *

of death, as of life

            *

I want to note & admire :

his openness, his friendliness,

his determination, his weariness,

his coping, his grace, his grit

I want to admire this & say

            *

did you go to the funeral

that’s when it hits you

that’s when you’ll know

that he’ll never be back

            *

suddenly she was left

bereft & unanswered

            *

i still do not know

why you let go …

            *

they say you get over

it, but you never do

            *

live, o nameless one !

            *

she couldn’t understand

what had happened

to her man …

            *

nothing is ever

the same again

            *

breathe, my little one

            *

as in all of us here

            *

i will never leave him

on his own coping

i will never walk away

            *

why does the bastard past

come back to haunt us ?

            *

i brought you

into this world &

i won’t let anyone

take you from it

            *

live, my little one !

live ! be strong !

            *

you enter a sudden

zone a tunnel vision &

everything seems sucked

clean of choice & light

            *

you seem to

become two &

the one who will

not live has lost

all sense of light

& balm of time

            *

sun through trees

of white writing

            *

sun through trees

of white writing &

the tree-heads caught

in the sun’s last gold

an alphabet written

across tree-floors : 

moss & crottle

            *

he’d been to

four funerals in one year

musicians & friends, all

dead by their own hand

the fifth he couldn’t :

he couldn’t take the waste,

the remnant loved ones’

grievings, the dereliction

of genius sound

*

the language of it :

commit – don’t ever use that word –

take your own, end of it, some

call for help

the language of it doesn’t do at all

the language of it is shoddy

to their hearts

            *

we have to stop & listen,

stop & listen, stop & listen

right the way through 

            *

the sharp curve, the burden,

the shadowed absence

            *

sun through trees

of white writing

right through

to the end

STEPHEN WATTS has published numerous collections, including Mountain Language: Lingua di Montagne (translated by Cristina Viti, 2009) and Ancient Sunlight (2014), and the prose work Republic of Dogs / Republic of Birds (2016). He lives in East London.

Illustration by KATIE MARLAND.