Two poems from the current issue

KOAT NEWS AT 6

by Alanna Offield

As the signal buffers its way from the air-conditioned newsroom
to the edge of the fire, the young reporter nods her head for slightly too long.
Yes, she says, thousands more acres, hundreds more evacuations
the biggest active fire in the country, the biggest in New Mexican history maybe
and I wonder is there something of pride in the recognition. I am listening
for her accent. Decoding if she belongs to these burning mountains
or if she chose them, if when she got the job in Albuquerque,
they told her to tone it down, to remove the music of her words because viewers
wouldn’t understand her, it would remind them too much of the family they left behind
for the city. I wonder did she record herself speaking and play it back until
her sentences stopped curling at the ends like smoke.

CAT SA LEABA

le Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin

Cat carad, agus mé ar cuairt chuige,
bhuail sí isteach sa seomra
nuair a bhíos chun dul a chodladh
agus ligeas di fanacht in aice liom –
bhí teas agus fionnadh uaim;
ach dúisiodh mé ag a trí a clog,
mar bhí sí ag cíoradh mo ghruaige lena hingne
is ag brú orm, a srón beagnach sáite
isteach im’ chluas. Níor dhein sí crónán ar bith,
lean uirthi ag obair chun rud éigin a chur
i gcuimhne dom, ag obair i ndáiríre
chun go dtuigfinn, ach theip uirthi,
bhí an codladh ró-throm. Ansan thosnaigh sí ag caoineadh
agus bhí orm éirí agus í a scaoileadh amach
faoin oíche, mé cosnochta ar urlár fuar.
Ar maidin,
bhí ionadh orm faoin rud a tharla, ach
cén fáth nár thuigeas pé rud a bhí i gceist?
Nach mar sin a bhíonn an scéal,
an fhilíocht ag breith orainn le greim –
le greim an uafáis, sa dorchadas
is ag imeacht arís gan fiú focal amháin
agus an dualgas fágtha aici romhainn,
an eachtra a thuiscint, conas a tharla
tiomnú cait a bheith chomh deacair san a mhíniú?