Finding Christina
The Search
One hundred and sixty years ago
She was confirmed Lutheran
in this church
I have come to Norway to find her.
This story is told in her voice.
There are seeds under the snow
Bluebells, rosebays, anemones
I will not see them bloom this spring
or pick the cloudberries that ripen
in summer
I will not play in the meadow by
Grandfather’s house or help
Grandmother make soup in the fall
My name is Christina Birte Larsdotter
I am 16 years old
I am going to America
Letters from America come as
welcome as spring.
They pass quickly from hand to hand,
each page spilling hope
and the promise of good land,
Papa says when we leave Sigdal.
We will need a new name for
our new life.
I will no longer be called “Larsdatter”
My brother will no longer be “Larsen”.
We will all take the name of our farm, “Solum”
It is a promise we have made
to the land.
Papa is strong, like the tree
outside our door.
He says our new home will have
faith as the floors,
courage as the walls, and love
as the roof.
We Norwegians believe in God
and in each other.
We carry our history in our bones.
I am not afraid
How do you keep a memory?
Do you press it between pages
like a delicate flower?
Salt it with your tears
and hang it in the sun to dry?
Wrap it in nostalgia?
Sweeten it with song? Or
soak it in a brine of sorrow?
If we talk too much about the past will the stories shrink with each retelling?
If we set the past aside
will it suffocate in the silence?
Memory’s clock has hands
that track forgotten times.
It sits in a hall of shadows
and chimes with the church bell in Sigdal.
There are many ways to shape the
future. The barriers we face here
offer no options, only exits.
Look at the sky, little sisters.
Those stars you see above you
are like the angels in heaven.
They will watch over us in America
as they do in Norway when we
leave those barriers behind.
As Papa locked the door for the last time, Mama turned to me and said,
“Put your hand in mine and
let me cup your fears.
We are going to in-between times.
Life will change, but you must remember
that crumbs are also bread and
behind the clouds, the sky
is always blue.”