Alana Saltz’s most recent poem to appear here was simon (July 2010). I wonder if you’d like to go to this village and see it come to life before your eyes much like it does in this poem …
The County Antrim
By Alana Saltz
By Alana Saltz
We pass field upon field of lush, vibrant grass
and the leanest cows we’ve ever seen-
not like those oafs back home with jiggling stomachs,
but thin and regal and almost beautiful.
Here, the butter tastes rich and golden
and we cook everything in it.
We smother fresh bread with generous globs,
sizzle bacon and eggs in a pan for a fry.
This little village we stay in
has been unchanged for hundreds of years.
No restaurants, no post office, three pubs,
and row upon row of chip-painted row houses.
We renovate our inherited home,
paint over the black exterior with a crisp lemon yellow,
pull out ancient rugs and tear down ancient walls.
We invade the town, stumbling over thick Irish accents,
ignored by shop keepers who know we don’t belong.
At night, the dirty Bridge Boys chase me and my sisters
down the empty streets, yelling for us to lift up our skirts.
My sisters run, but I’m not afraid.
I wait until I round a corner to bolt back to the house.
As we drive through County Antrim,
we don’t know where to go or how to get there.
The “Sat Nav” is broken and won’t speak to us,
so we drive past fields of skinny cows and thick-wooled sheep
searching for street names nowhere to be found.
I love the simplicity of life in a place where time stands still. But, so much happens.