Spring ice eases its seizure of pond,
the furrowed bark of a fallen tree,
Blanding’s turtles balance, embrace
the sun; beneath, a female meadow vole
cradles its young, away from the ravenous gaze
of a barred owl perched overhead.
In summer, the tree’s riddled core yields up
a buried treasure trove of carpenter ants to
the pileated woodpecker who drums away,
the air bursting with reverberation.
In autumn, ring-necked ducks rest before
migration. Preparing for winter, a grey tree frog
burrows into the moist cold earth. Like the fat
rhizomes of nearby cattails now brown, brittle,
bent over, it lies deep below the water,
in wait for the return of spring’s warmth.
Today, I turn away from despair, supported
by a tree hulk, swishing sounds burble in
my intestines, sweet-sour scent
of my sweat ever so ripe.
—
Blaine Marchand lives on the unceded territory of the Algonquin – Anishinaabe people, known as the Ottawa Valley. Hi’s poetry and prose has appeared in Canada, the US, New Zealand, Pakistan, India, France and Ukraine. He has seven books of poetry published, a chapbook, a children’s novel and a work of non-fiction. Active in the literary scene in Ottawa for over 50 years, he was President of the League of Canadian Poets from 1991-1993.
