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That candle we bought
it smells a bit like wid,
like stones, moss, river, mud.
Close enough tae the notes:
Pine, Herbal, Green Leaf.
The finest parts ae the country
moulded then sold in luxury soy.
Every candle plants a tree.
Its wick sits perfect, unlit,
waitin fur the right moment
tae remember how we walked
fur miles thegither, talkin endlessly.
I light it n picture a Caledonian forest,
somewhere beyond the west coast.
Note
Charles Lang’s ‘Tír na Coille Cailleannaich’ casts an image of Scotland’s ecological consciousness
in shrink-wrapped, scented wax. In it the longing gaze west over the Atlantic and the longing
for a time when forests covered the land come together to decorate coffee tables, to accompany
spider plants on windowsills. The poem’s Caledonian Forest figures as a land where dreams
and environment take on a vapid, monocultural aroma, ’Pine, Herbal, Green Leaf.’ We join
the speaker in lighting the wick in prayer for something more to say on intimacy and Highland Edens.
PATRICK ROMERO MCCAFFERTY