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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/1317094-Enga-mellom-fjella/day/7-1-2022
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

Missoula, Montana

Reader's Choice of Poems:

"'heart's home'
"Where grows the compost heap
"In search of Iris
"La Bella Vita
"Mauve Mavis


Reader's Choice of blog entries from my old blog "L'aura del Campo:

"Death of Jeannie New Moon
"Winter: 18 Mas'il (December 29)
"Even in chaos ... More hockey poems.
"Footprints in the snow, in memory of Nyia Page
"Czernina (Dirk's-blood-soup?) and Murv Jacob's mural

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
July 1, 2022 at 11:40pm
July 1, 2022 at 11:40pm
#1034570
Shrek smiled at his good fortune and tossed a stone, tossed a branch.

A dog with light violet eyes caught the branch and brought it back to the boy named Shrek, five-foot-two, eyes-of-coal and weighing all of 7 stone. The young man saw his reflection in its pupils, the wag of tail, the whine as he laid it at Shrek's feet. He picked it up and tossed the branch as far as he could. It soared over a bush, over a ditch, landed fifteen feet away.

The dog came back, again and again until cloud-shadows dimmed the light. Shrek petted him gently and slowly walked down the path to the road, never looking around until he got to the lean-to he had called home since yesterday. It began to sprinkle. At least the cardboard roof didn't leak... much. He knew where to huddle to stay dry.

A wet nose nudged him out of his reverie. Violet eyes bored through him until he nodded, then the dog curled up and went to sleep.

Shrek listened to the patter of rain, the distant drumming off the tin roof of a shed, the gurgle in the gutter. He got up to piddle in a puddle. The dog never moved.

He had a dog, it seemed. He'd search for some food in the morning. Shrek loved blueberries. Dogs ate? Maybe the old lady who had let him stay here could help. She had smiled back at him when he had asked if he could rest here.

Shrek considered his good fortune. He'd been kicked out of home four days ago. Now he had a roof, a dry spot, berries to pick and... a dog.

A dog with violet eyes.


© Copyright 2024 Kåre Enga in Montana (UN: enga at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Kåre Enga in Montana has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/1317094-Enga-mellom-fjella/day/7-1-2022