Poem of the week : Dune

Dune

I dreamt we were in the Gaeltacht
Wet waxed hoods over windswept heads
Peat intense nostrils crept
Cheeks embered we climbed whitewashed steps
And slept a wooden chair and a cotton bed.

I dreamt we were in the Gaeltacht
Perched on dune-built sands
Light nicotine drawn through pink knobbled hands
Sun burned orange on skin where it lands
Just us, some cans and the Atlantic.

My Mothers hobbled onboard
Left their tongues on those Ivory shores
Hidden past lives, forgotten lores
They chored nine days a week
In this city concrete.

This city reeks of the dead
The walls are closing in
There is no promise left.

It’s filmed on every camera
On every close end.

I no longer love her.

It is time to go home.

Victoria McNulty is a poet, spoken word artist and educator from the East End of Glasgow. Her writing is rooted in working class story telling and her Glasgow roots, and her critically acclaimed chapbook Confessionals released through Speculative Books in 2017. McNulty’s spoken word theatre film Exiles was released in 2021, to great acclaim.