Curated by Judy Gaudet
Brudenell, PEI Nov 27
Beyond the south-faced river windows
the deck sits damp, a skim of pocked ice
melts softly from its Wolmanized floor.
Yesterday’s expanse of snow-laden lawn
reclaims its pale green garb of faded summer:
cupped pale leaves strewn like pie-crust shells
unraked remnants of the autumnal décor,
the reds and yellows of drowsy maple and aspen
strewn here and there, knots on an antique quilt.
Now skeletal, arms like posing ballerinas,
the trees alert and naked in this winter thaw
profiled against a silken haze that hides
away the world beyond the lawn’s horizon,
I sit at our table, lost in Follett’s Whiteout,
sip comfortably on the day’s best cup of tea
when sudden telltale honks of fleeing geese
left to right, east to west, sound their approach.
I raise my eyes above the trees to watch…
instead like strafing fighter jets they swoop,
dark shapes skim by in a grey soup dawn
at the earth’s edge where water ought to flow,
ghosts pierce the murky morning river fog.
They pass, explode upon my absent-minded calm.
then fade like a million unspoken memories.
—Hugh MacDonald from This is A Love Song, Black Moss Press, 2011.
Island poet and avid poetry reader Judy Gaudet selects a poem by a PEI poet each month.
Judy's latest book is Conversation with Crows (Oberon,2014)