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 |   Enga mellom fjella: where from across the meadow, poems sing from mountains and molehills. |
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Enga mellom Fjella  Sentinel Marked as if you own me I bow before the Bitterroots and just like you my rocky soil, my withered grass lays prey to the empty sky. © Kåre Enga 2007 "Sentinel"   Reader's Choice of Poems: "Sentinel" "Glice" "In search of Iris" "For Jeanette ... when she grows old" "Koan on an October sky" Reader's Choice of blog entries from my old blog "L'aura del Campo" :"Death of Jeannie New Moon" "Doing and don'ting. A scene in 2nd person." "In a garden of roses, baby" "Tupac and more poetry" "Guitarman, a gift for Gary. Aaron Marable's art." FACES     PLACES            Kåre  Enga~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop The Fish |
| The Black Brick The black doorstop hadn't moved in decades. No one bothered it or the door it held ajar for the cats and cockroaches, its only visitors. The last human who'd dared to disturb its dust was a child with long blond hair. He'd found it to be too heavy for his tiny hands. They'd be wrinkled by now and those strands would be grey... if he had any left. It was proud to have kept its secret for so long. When was it placed here? Only the rotted bones in the oubliette would know. If bones could speak... Its sleep was disturbed by a rush of damp breeze. Rain? Someone must've opened the outer door to the bricked up passageway. "My grandfather said he came this way as a child." "Spooky." They both sneezed. "And dusty." The doorstop waited silently. "There's another door!" They passed the old brick by. "What's this hole?" "Bones!" Their screams could've wakened the dead. On their way out one tripped over the brick, their boots scraping off black paint revealing a glimmer of... "Look!" "Gold!" They tried to lift it. "Too heavy." "Let's come back tomorrow." But they never did. It was November 9th... The Night of Broken Glass. A new noise? Laughter? Two voices tinkled like wineglasses. "I wonder what this was?" "Maybe a bunker? A cellar? A dungeon?" More laughter. "Afraid of ghosts?" "Never! You'd scare them all away." "What's this?" The brick glimmered in anticipation. "Just a yellow brick painted black." "It's heavy." "Leave it." They went through the door. "Nothing here but a hole with old bones. Let's go." The black brick had enjoyed the interruption. It chuckled as it went back to sleep. © Kåre Enga (7.februar.2025) ~285 words. |
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