War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

to sitting lady falls (training for war)

still stuck in a number of places with this one



I run through the forest into metallic dusk,
trace the shore, gun grey in last light,
through leaguers of arbutus, red cedars,
trip-wire of salal. This dangerous hour.
War ticks war tocks as I foot duff, leap rocks—
my muscles tuning. For flak vest and helmet.
The lagoon’s impossible peace, cross-haired,
sited, within me as I tread the dead
and fallen trees, slippery from snowstorm, rain,
the greedy creek: the engine of the falls
—earthquake, truck, idling Hercules—
the Sitting Lady’s burka, cold white water;
the great horned owls’ oily catcalls.
I choose not safe. I take. The dark way, home.


About This Page

The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled to sitting lady falls (training for war). It was posted here on January 22, 2009.

·

Complete diary archive