In her dream she was always walking towards
or into: the sea, the road, the lane, the haggard,
gate and yard, old house. She dreamt of open arms,
harbour walls held open to embrace, a five-bar gate
between stone pillars slowly opening. Dogs appeared,
they barked, glanced at one another, unsure yet
swirling in excitement, barking, barking, barking,
the way dogs bark arrival in every exile’s dream.
And she was always walking towards or into:
sea, road, lane, haggard, gate and yard, the narrow
kitchen door, a fresh loaf cooling, always,
faces turned and open. Always laughter.
First published in The North, Issue 61, January 2019