In memory, she shines. A hopeful light
that broke, unwearied, through uncertain days
before the war began, the lonely fight
that broke her narrow road, the certain way
her stage was set. Our stories don’t resolve
as easily as writers would believe.
What do you do when every hope dissolves
like ashes on the wind? How do you leave
with nothing in your hands? No hearth or home,
no pillow to receive your weary head;
a wanderer cut loose to rage and roam
with nobody to care if you are dead.
The lass is not a flower: phoenix fire
erupts from deep within. She rises higher.
N.b. — ‘Luceo non uro’ is the motto of the Clan Mackenzie. It is Latin for “I shine, not burn.”
