Inheritance

Something hides

Between the belly and the heart,

A low sensation thrust

Under the sternum

Like life or death

Or compromise.

Two clouds in the blue sky

Over the battle of Harlaw,

Like the cloud pillar of the Israelites,

Lead to a monument,

Wild geese returning to promised land,

Flood plains and melting snows.

There are broken bridges here

Like the chasm in me:

Broken bridges 

And brown earth furrowed in hope,

Spring already late.

Something still and silent is waiting.

The past directs the present.

I am wearing my dead father’s jacket:

My inheritance and the cloth in which he lived.

The sun crosses my arm

And lights a silver thread

Which shines in the brown weave

Like a jewel.

© BH 1994

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Peter Gabriel's father died a few days ago on the 9th November. Made me think of this poem, remembering my own father. I wrote it after being on a train to Aberdeen in 1994. I was wearing my father's jacket which, apart from his box of DIY tools and a case of whisky, was my tangible inheritance. He left me a lot more besides, in the heart and in the head. 

It is true, though, as the train passed near Balhagarty, near the site of the Battle of Harlaw, the sun came through the grey cloud and picked out a single silver thread in my sleeve.

It's that chance sparking of memory that matters. Peter. That and the song.