Yesterday, Corked Wine Boutique in Fredericton, NB, was the scene of a creative writing reading (Sunday, 26 March, 2016) for two writing groups: Fictional Friends and Wolf Tree. A reception was held in order to celebrate award winning writers from these two groups and about 25-30 people, group members and family friends, were present. I would like to thank all those who made this event possible. A special thank you, in alphabetical order, to Ana, David, Jane, and Neil, for making me feel welcome in what was for me a new environment. And a great big thank you to Charlotte, for allowing us to read in Corked.
For my contribution, I read Fear of the Hawk and followed it up, in a second reading, with the three poems that appear below.
The crows in the garden complain of the cold,
cawing from their look-out points
with short, sharp calls.
A life of ease they seem to live,
but when the mercury descends and water freezes
icy blinds inside our window panes and snow-
squalls bluster in from north and west,
who knows what’s best for those poor birds
aloft in their crow’s nest spars,
sailing snow’s seas,
steadfast in their skippering of wind-bent trees?
This Arctic cold is such
that neither man nor beast can love it much,
crouched close to whatever warmth there is,
shivering in the wind’s cold touch.
Yesterday, a dozen crows pecked at salt grains
scattered over the road.
A black-clad chorus, they rejoiced
when sunshine drew the white-tailed deer,
from winter depths of banked up snow.
Not long ago she was alive;
now she lies stiff and broken.
Soon she’ll be picked up by workmen,
dumped, and forgotten.
Stars drift hidden through the sunny sky.
What magic spell invokes what beginnings?
To what end do we prolong our days?
this fairy-tale I call my life?
Driving home from the hospital,
bullied by fierce winds
on a snow-packed road,
I dream as I drive.
I envision a past
that never was, a future
that may never be.
As I hibernate in that past,
last summer’s flowers
flourish in my mind.
The car skids into a snow bank
and my world shakes in shock.
A thirty wheeler rumbles by:
there are so many ways to die.