THE GHOSTS OF CULLODEN: 1746

by Marge Simon

Can you hear them, can you see them

Marching proudly across the moor,

Hear the wind blow thru the drifting snow,

Tell me can you see them, the ghosts of Culloden.

lines from “The Ghosts of Culloden” by Isla Grant

A savage lot, you say,

wearing kilts their women wove,

the dyes set by their lasses’ piss.

Look close to see the weave,

their tartans fine as any noble’s vest.

Can you see them, rising up again

with their claymores dipped in red,

but when the smoke of battle clears,

they fade into the mist.

And all to unify the clans,

to return the Stuart line

to England’s throne.

Such a waste of lives—

their Bonnie Prince Charles

was a fucking arse.

Climb to the Highlands

to find the standing stones,

make passage back in time,

then feel the thunderous entry

of their passing souls—

and you can worship down.

There is a bloodied page

in this history tome I hold.

I am a daughter

among daughters of many.

We’d have fought too,

if such were allowed.

We carry the weight

of suppressed rain,

the loss of lands,

the seasons of death

etched in the planes

of our faces.

This page you may scribe on,

so many lies on,

but no pen can change

nor words rearrange

what happened at Culloden.