Fukushima

17 May 2011

MontrealPoet
A fault line in my heart
trembled. Tremors along my spinal cord
tumbled memories down.
A wave of longing crashed
upon the coastline of my memories.
Remembered faces collapsed.
An inorganic fever
rose, and the memories were displaced
to cold and crowded halls.
And here I am, still
digging through debris for missing memories
worried I might forget
a place, a name, a face,
a street I used to pace, a park, a swing,
a child I used to teach.

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MontrealPoet

Hélas, c’est fait, quelle est donc ma consigne? Un mot anglais que je ne comprends pas: Mon père était du pays de la vigne. Mon poste, non, je ne te laisse pas. - François-Xavier Garneau (1809-1866)

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