Cavities

Sitting on the rocks of the Viking graves,

We snacked on crackers

and watched the squealing gulls and oystercatchers

irritated at the intrusion of their hunt and home.

Our guide of the Hebrides crouched

in a tunneled crevice in the earth

where Stone Age people had lived, hunkered,

their dark eyes peering out at the pouring rain

that now lashes this house called Tighard.

A vertebra of a killer whale

leans against our dwelling.

the spinal cord that once propelled it

only a cavity

the shelter enduring,

the sheltered perishing.

We move through the house

planning meals.

We stoke the fire,

keep our journals,

think of the past

and ask the time,

on our own small and quiet quests for food

and the ancient longing to be filled.

—Janelle Masters