Enga mellom fjella: where from across the meadow, poems sing from mountains and molehills. |
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: "'heart's home'" "In Lagada, la vita" "Waterlily" "Boise City" "Plain cover jacket" 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" "A Thanksgiving Dinner poem and the WDC Zoo" "Poems inspired by maps. Remember 1963?" FACES PLACES Kåre Enga ~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop The Fish |
It's important to find where they hang out. Vacuum, spray, squish. Whatever works. Which reminds me of... ME: I'm fortunate that I don't have many enemies where I live. None that I know of in fact. No one bites me here; no one nibbles at my faults, reminds me of how unworthy I am. I still do it to myself, of course, but less. Today I had lunch with Joyce and two of her friends. Lovely, absolutely lovely... as my English friends would say. Today I'm having computer issues, but one word to Jeff and it may be taken care of tomorrow. No one bites here. I still have nightmares. Still get easily startled. But the present isn't compounding the wounds of the past. It's one thing to be bruised. They do heal, albeit slowly at times. It's another to keep banging away. Nothing heals. I've found some bugs. I've squished them. Hopefully I won't get more bites. But if I do, they won't be as devastating as the wounds inflicted by mean people. |