Anne Ballard, Poetry.

What We Take With Us

We never expected green fields
would be important, or lambs,
in a place where they didn’t raise sheep
and kept livestock imprisoned.

We had taken landscape for granted,
assumed all countries had hills,
high moors with gorse and heather,
coastlines of cliffs, mudflats, dunes.

We wished we could have packed snowdrops,
the scent of bluebells,
that sewerish pong from the beach,
the grittiness of sand between toes,
seagulls, the taste of freshly-caught fish,
the sound of ...


To read the rest of this article Login

or purchase a Digital Subscription