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Printed from https://shop.writing.com/main/books/item_id/1317094-Enga-mellom-fjella/day/9-21-2021
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Rated: 13+ · Book · Biographical · #1317094

Enga mellom fjella: where from across the meadow, poems sing from mountains and molehills.


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" Open in new Window.

Daffodils from Mandy.

Reader's Choice of Poems:

"Sentinel" Open in new Window.
"Glice" Open in new Window.
"Waterlily" Open in new Window.
"Boise City" Open in new Window.
"Koan on an October sky" Open in new Window.


Reader's Choice of blog entries from my old blog "L'aura del Campo" Open in new Window.:

"Death of Jeannie New Moon" Open in new Window.
"Doing and don'ting. A scene in 2nd person." Open in new Window.
"In a garden of roses, baby" Open in new Window.
"Holy day. Autumn in November. A mole." Open in new Window.
"Poems inspired by maps. Remember 1963?" Open in new Window.

FACES



PLACES




Yellow cheer from sarah




 Kåre *Delight* Enga
~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go.
~ Elizabeth Bishop
The Fish
September 21, 2021 at 2:55pm
September 21, 2021 at 2:55pm
#1017824
I love this room. I live here in an oak drawer stuffed with papers. So cozy with candles casting a rosy glow on my mistress as she sits there each morning on the edge of her high back chair. Their fragrance lingers in the air.

But today my mistress slumps, wrapped in her nightgown of gauze, her copper hair hanging, barely awake.

She isn't prepared for the telegram.

One never is.

She gazes at a stack of letters tied with a blue ribbon, the pink petals painted on panels not muttering a word.

I... I am summoned and gently lifted from my refuge.

No tick-tock of a clock notes the passing seconds as she stares at the void, eyes vacant beyond tears.

Her warm hand cradles me as the candle weeps. We who bear witness say nothing. What can we say to our somber young mistress. There's no consolation to overcome heart-rendering words once they're read and digested.

See me there, now gripped by her hand, wondering whether I'll be called upon to end her despair. I recoil at the thought.

         one shot fired
         which way it's aimed
         we don't know

© Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga, P.O. 22, [178.232.gz]

Invalid Photo #1062218
'Telegram' by Louise Max-Ehrler (1894)

~190 words
*Thought*  Comment   •   View 1 comment


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Printed from https://shop.writing.com/main/books/item_id/1317094-Enga-mellom-fjella/day/9-21-2021