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 expect? Of course there’d be something. Each time
the wreck appears around the last curve, I think of lost freighters creaking,
sinking. Of dead sailors still and white in the sand.
(Originally published as “Wreck,” in Actualities, Gaspereau Press, 2007)
