The Hawkers
Big shoes to fill, he of the blue eyes and nut brown skin, counting his knuckles for sums and pawing for change. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
A bucket
Two feet past the busy woodpile, Igor’s fury and the stillness that reigned after the trees cracked. The baby restless. The rampage. A bucket and all it could hold. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Fire
This time and these stars and this smoke rising. Your hands on the girl and her hands on stone, the night so black the sound travels years to meet itself at the start. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Atlas goes paddling
Plunge and pull, your paddle the best of you, your arms reaching — elbow, wrist, fist — into the black. And the boat cuts on. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Quiet Morning at Ocean Pond
Morning: the rise and fall of tiny chests, the tide in them. The old sun going on and on. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Ready?
Small girl in a clutch of trees scraped knees peeking from a gallumph of rubbers. Her yellow boots big as the world CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Trade route
You are knees and curls, a palette of surprise. Rehearsing a way home, your feet too small to carry you. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Squeaky snow
Feet slicing over the snow, the sky a riot of blue. Lull the babies to the huf-huf of legs pumping, and the dog racing ever onward. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Collingwood reverie
The snow a country here. The busy birds. An earnest hand: surrender. But ask the boys and they’ll say it’s a backside smooth as Sunday morning. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Twinkle, twinkle
The woods and your red cheeks and the baby tucked, just so. You find the words and sidle up alongside, swelling with rhyme. CLICK ON THE RECORDING
Red-winged blackbirds
Call it summer, call it promise, call it radio from a Dodge patiently polished. We lay on our backs in the sun that month, holding vigil for September. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Train coming around the tracks
The silence was the most disturbing part. The whole world standing staring at these metal sinews tripped and quick-frozen. Now with summer at its heaviest, the air burning with the ingratitude of August and the back-and-forthing of combines. There’s been much hail — we’ve huddled tsk-tsking, watching the sky like a felon. What did we…
Dawn chorus with geese
The birds and the reeds and the morning cows knee-deep in muck. Empty bleachers where the sky used to live. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Corral gate
Home is horseflesh, this salty lick across the prairies. A silver sky threatening rain. Home is these empty barns and the trail, still warm. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Auction
The way it goes so fast. All the neighbours out to pick over the bones. The old men wincing. Text on the button
Fire on the Beach (Middle Cove)
Blue, veined with green, this is the colour of loss. A battered silver tea set the gift of hundreds, the new west sunk off the east. I pocket a piece of bone gnawed smooth by the hungry ocean. We are all dogs nosing amongst the rubble. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Mermaid
Suspended as though held by hands, I am silent as a fish, hiding my cumbersome legs. Lie back, lie back, they say, as the girls dance a shocking blue.