THE DEN OF SWALLOWS I will eat your grey-speckled bread because I am one of nine children because our father has been arrested for sweeping flour dust from the docks because they cannot ration need even now -- their bombs popping like small hungers -- I want to go belly full of this world. -- A Blessing, Malta, 1943 I am the urchin of shadows. I am the silhouette Too visible in the rocket flash that follows My father to the docks, barren, pockets of pale Dust swirling on moonlit planks. Why has he left The catacombs, carrying a broom? He sweeps the docks, Making mounds the sea breeze levels like tide. He could be swabbing the deck of some phantom ship, Sleepwalking the plank, convinced all his children are Asleep, their mouths open, reminding him of swallows. Bare-chested now, his muscles sharpen on the horizon, Pink and purple with morning. With white Hands he piles the dust on his shirt, ties it In a bundle and starts to leave, broom poised Like a fishing rod on his shoulder; the bundle, A mackerel on string. I want to run To him as if this were Sunday dawn, the air Stripped of all-clear and filled with bells, A flock of tourists surrounding my father, his hands Held out for me instead of for soldiers: Arrested, Poked away, booty abandoned on the dock To the urchin of shadows, to the silhouette Filling with bread in the den of swallows. L-GHAR TAL-HUTTAF Se niekol hobzok imtabba' griz ghax jien wiehed minn disa' wlied ghax missierna kien arrestat talli kines trab id-dqieq mill-bacir ghax ma jistghux jirrazzjonaw il-bzonn anqas issa -- bil-bombi taghhom ifaqqghu bhal gwieh zghar -- irrid nitlaq imxabba' minn did-dinja. -- "A Blessing, Malta, 1943" Jien l-imqareb tfajjel tad-dellijiet. Jien is-silwett Li nidher wisq fil-berqa tar-rokit tlehh Wara missieri fi triqtu lejn baciri, bahh, gzuz trab Musfar jittajjar fuq pjanci f'dawl il-qamar. Ghal halla Il-katakombi, igorr xkupa? Jiknes baciri, Igezzez trab li ziffa l-bahar twitti bhal marea. Tisthajlu jimmoppja gverta ta' vapur fatat, Sonnanbulu fuq il-pjanci, cert uliedu kollha Reqdin, halqhom miftuh, ifakkruh fil-huttaf. Sidru issa gheri, muskli jispikkaw kontra xefaq, Roza u vjola maz-zerniq. Idejh Imbajdin jgharmu trab fil-qmis, jorbotha Sorra u jlesti biex jitlaq, xkupa mwiezna Fuq spallejh bhal qasba tas-sajd; is-sorra, Kavall fuq xlief. Jien irrid nigri Lejh qisu il-Hadd mas-sebh, l-arja Mnazzgha minn all clear timtela' daqq qniepen, Gemgha turisti madwar missieri, idejh Jaghtihom lili milli lis-suldati: arrestat, Imbuttat 'il hemm, u li kiseb jisfa mitluq fuq bacir Ghat-tfajjel imqareb tad-dellijiet, silwett Jitrejjaq bil-hobz fl-ghar tal-huttaf.
THE HUTCH She kept rabbits for cheap meat, a litter of fur when we least expected. Aunt Lena had the stomach andblade to slit a hare's neck for Sunday stew, a ritual after mass. With surgical skill she held it by ears and skinned over a pail till blood drained tinnily before others in the hutch. She lopped off parts like a butcher, threw the mess to the pail and went in to brew the meal. For playthings I salvaged the feet. still sopping, and tried to make them hop. IL-GAGGA TAL-FNIEK Rabbiet il-fniek ghal laham irhis, zramec suf meta l-inqas stennejna. Iz-zija Lena kellha stonku u xafra biex thanxar ghonq fenek ghall-istuffat tal-Hadd, ritwal wara l-quddiesa. B'sengha ta' kirurgu zammitu b'widintu u selhet il-gilda fuq barmil sakemm id-demm nixxa qatra qatra quddiem ohrajn fil-gagga. Qacctet bicca bicca bhal biccier, tefghet il-gozz fil-barmil u dahlet issajjar l-ikla. Jien biex nilghab erfghajt is-saqajn, ghadhom miblulin, u ppruvajt inqabbizhom.
LEGACY OF THE PATRIOT-FISHERMAN for the new Republic A veil of nets fraped across his back, the fisherman follows his son who zigzags on the pebble beach, his bare feet kicking stones, an imaginary ball, then something metal that bounces and twirls on a rock. The boy smiles, opens his olive fist to show a British silver piece glittering in sunset. The father takes it, pivots on his heel and flings it back as he would an undersize fish. The child glowers at his father, his blue eyes a remnant of conquest. WIRT IS-SAJJIED-PATRIJOTT ghar-Repubblika l-gdida Velu xibkiet jghattilu dagharu, is-sajjied miexi wara ibnu jizziguzajg max-xtajta caghqija, jaghti b'siequ hafjin l-gebel, blalen f'mohhu, imbaghad xi metall jitqabbez u jdur fuq gebla. It-tfajjel jitbissem, jiftah ponn samran juri munita tal-fidda ngliza tlellex f'inzul ix-xemx. Missieru jahtafha, idur fuq riglejh u jxejjirha lura kif kieku jaghmel b'huta mhux imdaqqsa. It-tfajjel jiccassa bicciera lejn missieru, ghajnejh zoroq fdal ir-rebha.
To be continued...