Today I spoke at the Happy Valley Goose Bay Town Hall for the proclamation of National Poetry Month. This is a new poem that I wrote for the occasion, straying outside of my comfort zone and being critical of where we, as a town, are heading because of the Muskrat Falls mega project. Poetry isn’t always pretty. I had a chance to say something, so I chose to say something meaningful.

M.

Christmas River

have you ever rested beneath a tree
looking up at the sky and its puzzle of branches
nature is beautiful
I find myself thinking, where are they?
I hope the spring run-off
takes all of your fears
and those unclaimed have found peace

this river runs green
but it also runs red
another challenging Christmas
for the river thief

I watch while the foreman wipes his nose
and clears his throat of complicated debris
we wait for the alarms

when Christmas came it was powder white
but all of the flakes were alike
she held her tongue and accepted the abuse

I cannot mistake what I’ve seen
tearing at the fabric of everything that makes us, us

what were you thinking when you crossed the line?

where will we be when Christmas is over?

 

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