We were swapping tales by burning coals
when I sipped my Irish whiskey and related the time
I leaped the mythologic emerald moon
and landed between fable and fact
in a well shaded by nine trees
bearing crimson hazel nuts, a feast that
rewarded those who ate of them
all worldly knowledge.
Alas, as I frolicked in the cool waters,
I learned that this Edenic perk was
reserved for the salmon
inhabiting the well.
On a summer’s eve I saw the goddess
Boann,
wife of the Gaelic god of the earth,
taste one of the forbidden nuts,
and I reasoned
it was a rash, unenlightened thing to do.
As the well overflowed in a cataclysmic
flood, Boann and I
escaped on the wings of a giant goose.
From there we watched wild waters form
the River Boyne (named of course
for the mischievous goddess),
condemning the salmon to swim the river
forever
in search of the nuts of knowledge.
It was told that one salmon was caught
and eaten by the Irish folk hero
Finn mac Coul himself,
who emerged the wisest of
all Finnian warriors,
but none outside the tavern topers
believed that Finn was a genuine person,
though I shared whisky with him
a time or two,
or that Finn married a lovely doe
who bore him a son Ossian, destined
to become a poet who wrote by the name
Little Fawn.
On more than one occasion, the
divine salmon swore
that the fawn looked a bit like me,
noticeably around the eyes and nose.
© Gene Williamson
Share
Print
Save
Follow
Be always safe,
Karen