Ancestral Home Calling

'It will be forever
my sea bird turn
and dip
horizon call
in cold air that
fossilises the ossuary
of my mind
like old seaweed,
chalk boned, this land,
hag-stone hearted,
just a taste
on my ancestor's tongues
dissolved, like salt,
into my tongue
till I am saliva-rich
with all their dead tastes.
A ninth wave carries
pebble song,
sea-grit,
half-remembered gods,
worn smooth glass,
lost hairpin,
dreams.'

-Lee Morgan, 2013