Unworthy

A poem by Di Anna Ishtar

For I am unworthy,
and many believe that to be true.

An outsider to your world,
an outsider to my own.

Since the first keening swept my ear—
stretching, leaning,
out over the Australian countryside,
through old wooden hallways,
curling low across sun-drenched paths
too hot to walk on—

I knew it was calling.
Nae—
beckoning
my soul home.

To fields of blood grown over.
To histories spoken in lies.
To ashes buried deep beneath the grass
of emerald isles.

To lies shaped by proud,
engineered tongues.

To lay down
the weight this soul bears
within this frail body
of borrowed breath.

To gift this sorrow
back to the earth.

To Alba.

The pain she draws home to her breast.
To her hallowed ground,
so she may be made whole again—
and stand proud
upon the shoulders
of her lost sons and daughters.

Those taken from her arms long ago,
by force,
not by choice.

Those who waited patiently,
whispering into my ears
their stories untold,
their lives altered
or left unlived.

May they rest now.

May my heart,
and my touch,
release back to Caledonia
what was once taken