These limestone steps, porous, etched by
centuries of water and snow, protrude
through thin topsoil, jut into the river’s brim.
Smudged here and there with blue, they are
the colour of smoke, the first light of morning.
Riven and heaved, hollowed out.
Layer upon layer of ancient deposits, detritus
of dead aquatic organisms piled up
from the floor of the Champlain Sea,
until the land, freed of glacial weight,
rose and the river carved out its course.
This afternoon waves lap at stacked rocks
gathered from the shore. Arranged
and balanced, the shards evoke birds
buoyant on the rapids, restore ókas,
women with pots on hips under drape of
blanket, who pause in the shallows, lean down
to fill them with the cold quench of spring.
—
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.
