A Column of The Miramichi Reader
I move forward facing backward. Water drips from the oar tip. There are those of us for whom islands are exile. For others, they’re an oasis from humanity, where one can occupy one’s self in seclusion. “Sometimes you have to go dead to be alive again.” As she put it, sequestering on this little island …
I was ten when I saw Mr. Wizard shoot down past our window from the sixth floor, that red checkered vest he always wore in a blur. I gasped and pointed. “Mr. Wizard…” I said, barely able to get the words out. My father was a few feet away talking to a guy in a …
Maybe still in the recovery room, I hear my Nana say, it’s okay honey, there are plenty of other fish in the sea. Later, not in the recovery room, I’m feeling formal, a little hungry. So Swoon and I decide to go out for a fancy oyster dinner. We celebrate our blues. I like to …
Early morning’s soft light washes over prairie stretched tight as a drum skin eastward to the horizon as Mark lifts himself out of the truck. The menacing buzz of mosquitoes, the insistent spit of irrigation sprinklers and the drone of an engine pumping water break the morning’s silence. The residue of sleep lingers in his …
After every funeral, we play car tag. Lift keys from our front hallways, still dressed in black skirts and skinny ties, pair into the driver and passenger seats of our parent’s cars, some of us holding memorial handouts, some of us a little drunk from the flask passed around the funeral home bathroom. We snake …
You collected me from the jetty in the small logging town. I’d been waiting in a striptease bar, the lumberjack customers more interested in their beers and televised ice-hockey than the girls. I’d seen your boat from a mile out, cutting a quick white swathe through the lake. During the ride back into the forest …
Catalina was feeding her grandmother when ocean waves swelled bringing news of her brother Tamas, long gone on a misguided sailing expedition. The blustery winds of the high seas played mischief with the pious families of the village, spreading rumours and lies, twisting and winding them up like a chroniker with no hands. Today it …
He stands up erect as she approaches the table. She is a vision of sea breeze and morning glory; her stride, a diaphanous runway walk. Subduing a rising blush, he slides out the upholstered chair and catches a tumble of soft brown curl as she folds into her seat. What a babe! Conversation is easy, …