Monday, September 19, 2011

Melvin & Emma

Melvin got wearily down from the cab of his truck and walked slowly towards the restaurant. Emma sat at a window table and watched him cross the parking lot. It was raining softly and the traffic was splashing by on the cross road running under the freeway. A slow freight train was passing on the embankment behind the restaurant. Eighty five cars filled to overflowing with coal from the pit mines on the other side of the mountains. This train had just divested itself of the extra engines needed to climb the pass. Now the trip was all down hill to the coast and then on a ship to Japan.

Melvin entered the restaurant and looked around at the sparsely populated tables. There she was, sitting at the table at the end of the room below the velvet painting of a panther being ridden by a woman with improbably large breasts. It was the best table because from there you couldn’t see the painting.

Emma had come to meet him here. It was the only way that they could spend time together in the next week. He was making the long-haul trip carrying mining equipment up to the asbestos mines in some bleak town up north, a 3000 mile round trip.

He had met Emma three years ago when he was driving a log truck out of Fernie in the forests to the west. They spent two happy years together and then when the forest had been clear-cut, the work ended. He couldn’t keep up the payments on his log truck and the bank just took it. They spent another six months growing vegetables and doing odd jobs. But it had become clear that he had to get a serious money job or they would lose their couple of acres and the cabin. So he signed on to this long-haul job. It meant spending so much time away from Emma.

They would meet here at Polly’s Roadside Breakfast Hut for two hours in the middle of his run. It would be five more days before he could spend two days with her before he had to climb back into the cab for another run. Emma had a long drive just to be here.

Melvin smiled as he approached the table. He had one of those off-center smiles that fooled some people into thinking he was snarling at them, but it warmed Emma’s heart. It was one of those odd things about Melvin. He was a kind and gentle man who would always say how he felt about things. He could never keep things hidden for long. Sure enough, just as their lips parted from their kiss he said, “This is the last trip to the mines.” It was simple as that. She knew what it meant. They would probably lose the land they both loved, but they would be together. She laid her head on his shoulder and hummed to herself while he ate his pancakes and eggs.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Counting Cosmic Rays

The satin black moonless curtain of stars
          fades at the edge
the hard crunch of snow
          crosses the open meadow.
I come puffing clouds of frozen air
          to count cosmic rays

          a cosmic ray is like an invisible pelican
                   wings tucked back
                    dropping out of the ink-black sky
          its mouth scoops open
                   ready to devour the whole universe
          our solid earth-ocean parts,
          the pelican passes through and is gone
                   leaving only a trail of scattered fish
          I come to capture those fish

I walk down a row of down-turned
          concave mirrors as big as search lights
the metal frame groans
          as I turn up the polished mirror
          and pull off the cover
my hand searches the darkness
          for hooks to anchor my cosmic net
I look down and find a face
          looking back at me
          from out of the star strewn sky.

Friday, September 2, 2011

Breathe Deeply

breathe deeply, slowly
slowly fill the lungs
millions of molecules
oxygen, nitrogen
other bits
carbon this, carbon that
maybe that one piece of death
that comes in and waits

and breathe out
add your part to the mix
swirling about the planet

among those millions, billions
are one or two bits,
the last gasp of Marilyn Monroe,
King George III ranting the halls of the palace,
the Buddha holding up that flower,
certainly some Medieval mother
screaming the birth of my
great, great, great, great …. grand-mother

we are intertwined with all
back to the creeping ooze of some primordial swamp

breathe deeply
take it all in