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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" "Where grows the compost heap" "Waterlily" "Speak soft my name" "Mauve Mavis" 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." "When is it proper to tell someone you love them?" "Footprints in the snow, in memory of Nyia Page" "Czernina (Dirk's-blood-soup?) and Murv Jacob's mural" FACES     PLACES            Kåre  Enga~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop The Fish |
| For "Invalid Item" Julia was visiting Dingle for the first time since she left Tra Li in 1853 The sea breeze freshened her face as she looked around at the sailboats. She was mighty thirsty. MacCartaigh Bar promised a glass of Guinness that she should not drink. Thankfully, it was closed. And the pub that offered fish and chip with mushy peas was closed too. She sighed as clouds closed in to pea soup and drizzle. Ah, it did, it did. 'Twas a great day to be Irish. Lucky? define that. It's true that she had been dead well over 100 years but what did that have to do with the price of cál ceannann (colcannon)? At least they were growing potatoes again. And the roses bloomed in May in Tra Li. As they always did. County Kerry was home. She wasn't McCarthy Mor, but she was a McCarthy none-the-less. She sat down to watch the sailboats and dreamt of taking back Caseal Rock for her clan. Nasty O'Briens. History lingered in every forgotten graveyard, whispered from headstone to headstone, bantered between bones. Better to not listen too closely. They gossiped like old widowers. She cackled about that. Off to America they told her. Herself had married a Hooker. Now her great-grand-children were all dead. Except one. She waited impatiently. Julia wanted to show her her Eire land, verdent, misty with muck. When would her great-grand-daughter die. Suredly, it would be on a great day to be Irish! |
| It was the getting up to pee. Hit or miss. Take another sip of water. Do not dehydrate, they told me. Every hour. Aches and pains, toss and turn. Ears, jaw, arm. The refusal of my leg to support my weight, the wobble, the fear of falling. I didn't dream. I just stressed. I napped eyes reluctantly fluttering to chills and fever. I left my door unlocked so they wouldn't have to break down my door to retrieve my putrefying flesh. The following night I slept better than I slept in years. It won't be the virus that kills me. |
| ...GO TO THE GATE... THE DOORS ARE ABOUT TO CLOSE... She was beautiful, looked 35 (was 50)... We were deep in conversation. Kristina was bound for Copenhagen. My flight headed for Munich. "Where are you from?" "Sweden." "My family came from Småland. I really liked Sweden, but I didn't care for Lund." "That's where I'm from." How to correct my faux-pas? "I went there to see a friend Anna-Lisa Harling." "That's my sister!" We took a selfie, sent it to Anna-Lisa. "OMG, You've met my sister!" Anna-Lisa was shocked. We just laughed. Such a chance encounter. Almost missed my flight. |
Yeah, dere wuz! 'N more. Lemme tell'ya... 'Er wuz dizzy y'see. Always wuz 'n always will be. Excuses, I tell'ya. 'N a bit tipsy... iff'n y'know wut I mean. 'N mean! Wudna lemme 'elp 'er.  Old coot. Jus' 'cuz 'er two days older'n me don' mean 'er can treat me dat way. Anyhoo. 'Er done dropt 'er ring in da coffee. 'Ad a fit 'er did, 'er did. It wudna been so bad... but... noooooo... When I fisht it out 'er teet' near bit me!  Dentures. 'Er done dropt'm in da coffee too. Old coot. Laffin' 'n laffin' at me.  |
| Without light there are no shadows, without pain no knowledge of joy I hide underneath stairs until there's no glimmer of light. At twilight I can move about without my familiar. I prefer clouds. Snow storms are best. Stars just twinkle; but ... they don't know Shadow. I was born with him. We're twins joined at the foot. We never talk. My aunt always sings, till all pain becomes one with joy and all darkness merges with light She was born with a shadow too. She doesn't seem to mind. still each New Moon beams innocent until shadows start to appear. |
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