Thursday, August 3, 2017

Joe Laughs

Joe paddles backward in the eddy
behind a rock, riffles like fu-manchu
frame Joe as he lingers in the river
soul-patch and checks his fit-bit
equipped with paddle-boarding app—
“6.1 miles” he shouts. An Osprey cheers
from it’s house atop power pole.

Joe is impressed I know
Osprey from Merganser.
Joe lives on this river,
confuses me with ignorance
of names and lack of fear—
standing on shaking legs down rapids
between rocks with igneous flare
like punk-rock bracelets we bought
from Hot Topic. Joe laughs at danger
even as he drops his lower half-in
to warm the river and mark it


Wednesday, August 2, 2017

Dennis Lake

Cutthroat trout slurp gnats on the surface 
of shoals reflecting the Telkwa Range’s
sloping shoulders, somewhere hidden 
there a remnant Caribou herd munch lichen. 
Two clouds hover above a loon’s eerie call.

Who could give language to this grandeur? 
What name could contain this sacrament? 
Difficult tasks beckon the brave.

A pioneering settler, a century ago, 
ignored first peoples, remained 
unpolluted by native tongues, beheld 
this place and thought "Dennis."

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

The Drive to Telkwa


Sun slouched upward:
a free-range yolk
over-easy in a dirty
rusted cast-iron pan.


Smoke from the interior
mingled amongst pine
and sage, tawny hills and
sometimes green valleys.


The gas station clerk
said it’s always busy:
no gas either direction
a long ways. And there’s an A’W.


Mountains were marbled with snow,
like a python’s black-and-white self-portrait—
a transparent but ultimately unsuccessful
attempt to appear artistic.


Clouds like white corduroy
dissipated over leather-skinned
road workers. The slow-stop
binary waited for deconstruction.