It exists in a series of wheres
Stationary moments of
Walking jumping and scraping a knee against pavement
In one grandma stands just inside the coolness of the garage
Amongst smells of grey paint and clean clothes
She spits to ease the pain
In another she bends over a low bush
While my grandfather is busy with pails further away
A menthol cigarette hanging from his lips
The sand dunes where we pick are
As I imagine a desert would be
Soft and smelling of blueberries
The tang of invisible pine needles sharpening the air
An almost barren land that can be reached by car
In town the smell of sulfur rises
From summer heat on melted rocks
The black and copper swirls that line the road and train tracks
Are not beautiful but their iridescence
Holds my eye
Until I want to touch one and keep it hidden
Everything has a slightly yellow look here
As though the west sun must slant down
Through smoky clouds and burn its way through
Inside the backyard fence behind the clean garage
Of my grandparents' home
The light is different under the shade of two apple trees
Their garden of raspberries
Red and black currants
Carrots peas yellow and green beans
A compost heap where nothing is wasted—
A place where nothing is lost—
Is a lush contrast to the parched land that lies beyond
Even manure smells good here as it is worked
Through pea pods and expired plants
And then behind their home
A different kind of desert stretches flat out
Toward the stable and the tracks
Its sand resembles the molten rock now crushed to coarse meal
Not pleasant to walk on but leading to a secret place
Outside the oasis of their yard and tucked against its back fence
A cave of scrub perfect for children
Seeking refuge from the heat of make-believe
And dying of thirst
To me this town was perfect
Because of who was there
Because of every scrap of cellophane or foil that was kept
Or reused
Because of the quarter jar that took a year to save
Because everything they had was loved and became lovely
“FALCONBRIDGE 1964-1975” was originally published in Regreen: New Canadian Ecological Poetry edited by Madhur Anand and Adam Dickinson. The copyright of this poem remains with me, Monique Chénier. Please credit me if you share it, and kindly direct people to my website.
Monique Chénier - Author 