Uprooting from Montreal,
You boarded the Chaleur
Bound for eastern shores,
Namely those of the petite ville,
On the curvy rails to the coast,
You should’ve lost your way
Bridging rivers, and tiny streams,
Thick with salmon bright.
You should’ve disappeared where
Peaking land reflect in ripples,
Installed among them, like a fleeing breeze, I wished
I could touch, silently, from my seat, the skin of each,
And at heart be in communion with a greater being.
But staring out at the grassy nests of crafty birds, nests
Left in lofty crooks, where hungry chicks cry and conjure,
I too conjure beaks full of succulent worms, yet gather
I am leagues beneath my aim, leagues beneath my hope.
Tracking into this stream
I’m swept beyond all reasoning
From trees to sea, to rock and bog,
Can they see me in this seat, luggage between my knees,
Decomposing, despite all I ought to know about you,
Despite all I ought to know about healing,
Hurting, because your name is chew-chewing through my brain?