Idea of North
No one’s watching you, and to faint stars,
you’re just a blur amidst the orange glow
of cement plant lights where mining never stops
you from thinking big city, better life – any life,
but this small town has been huddling
around a bon fire fed by car tires
on the shore of Lake Huron, bracing itself
against its only wealth – bitter cold
and limestone.
When you first realized the idea of north,
everyone here became a bad Polak joke
bundled up in used parkas and knit hats:
predictable and never funny. The idea
that this was God’s Country made you imagine
god as a drunken Polak who’d summoned
Pete Kaszabuski into a fishing shanty
with a full flask for three days: the task to catch
a grand revelation. Pete staggered out
on the third night with one:
drink till you puke, smoke till it’s gone.
God smirked and burped – called it good,
but it’s the other four days of the week
in this town that has you reeling
amidst the sound of winter’s white-capped waves
with their heavy machinery blasting you
past going-out-of-business signs
on the main drag; past your narrowing future
at the end of this dirt road – all the windows
of the house darkened – the drive empty.
Yes–under these northern skies, some days and some people leave us feeling this way, though others offer the simple option to be alone in a boat that floats amongst waves that wash away the pain of existence better than any city lights or back alley fights….though, there is also a time when it’s time to go, for a change in place, pace, to feel life swell again in a new space. this small town along the bay will still be here for another stay, haven’t you heard? it’s the town that wouldn’t die…
i have moved away and back three times now, we’ll see what the future brings
Brother, the snow fall covers time like a dream hides our truth. Memory’s fade but not forgotten. Great piece about long ago northern times. peace.