Wales- the back water

Incident at Gwenyd

This is earth:
Peace was never its forte
But to find it, we take a walk
My friend and I and the fish
I’d been served at breakfast. White
houses we’ve passed today, made of stone.

Early in the day, we visited the fort. A
morning wind swept the stone
Pieces crack, fall, turn to earth.
We’re now near houses all painted white
against the long walk
of the rain: trickle trickle. The last of the fish

go under the bridge we’re now on: stone
sturdy, grey. Men in white
overalls in the water, hoping for fish.
Then, we hear sirens, forte
and then an improbable traffic jam appears. The earth
is gyrating as people stop their cars and walk.

The ambulances turn left. The earth
is awake and green. We walk
towards a policeman. ‘Oi’ he shouts, forte
his face is white
like the flesh of the fish
“There’s been an accident” he says, voice of stone.

We change direction, like fish
sensing stiller water elsewhere. The tip tap walk
of the drops on our umbrella; a pianoforte
in tune with the hushed splash of our feet on stone
Drop by drop it ekes out: the smell of earth.

There are no houses now. Just stone
walls in between fields, white
metal arrow signs and one says ‘Forte-’
The rest has been eaten out by rain, friend to earth
They reign in these parts where we walk
by the river, where our kin fish.

My friend makes a dash for the side to fish
for wild strawberries, as I find when I walk
towards her. Her white
hands hand me some, cold as stone
But the warm smile is her forte
Now her cheek is smeared with earth.

We then lift our heads to the sound of the helicopter, white
Against the smoke that’s rising in the West, forte
“God have mercy.” Wet like fish, we stop, stranded on earth.

(Summer 2002, on my trip with Silke)

and there is that chance meeting with a fellow Mainzerin that I simply have to blog, next