Little Skier / Eternal Life

I had it once in Lofoten — eternal life,  
a body charged with light 
like a dam that’s filled to the brim
with waves of photons instead of water.  
That’s how I felt on my first night 
in the city after so long in the north;  
the clouds over Collserola were 
smeared with lipstick and neon. 
The sun had finally set leaving 
the hills to flicker like a neural net. 
Dark or what passes for dark in a city. 
When Alba asked what was wrong 
I wanted to say: light is flowing out of me, 
dark is flowing in — 
but too shy of feeling, I didn’t say that. 
Now I’m back in the north again. 
When I arrived last night, 
I didn’t understand, 
something was looming over me. 
It took me a while to realise 
it was Blåtind with its crosshatch 
of rock and ice, moon-noir, 
charcoal on white paper,  
a tsunami on the verge of collapse. 
And the lights on the bridge to Svinøya,  
how strange they looked, 
they are never lit in summer. 
After breakfast I went for a walk in the dark. 
I saw a child skiing to school. 
A girl who made her own skis 
over three nights of silence.  
When she was done she cut her finger 
and two drops of blood fell on her skis. 
Many strange things happened after that. 
Riding down Blåtind she outpaced a giant 
who caught her on the flat but he turned to stone 
when she reached the gates of the school 
in time for the first bell of winter. 
Thus is told the folk tale of the little skier 
with eternal life in Lofoten.  

Laurence O’Dwyer | A true and perfect description of the Novaya Zemlya Effect
Contents | Mudlark No. 79 (2024)