Nicholas Munroe
A Farm in Southern Manitoba
a farm in southern Manitoba
one day’s walk to the North Dakota border
July.
I go to visit a native friend, Alexander,
who turns into a crow at night and at dawn tells me what he sees in the moonlight forests and bedroom windows.
it was hot outside and kept on being hot
no one could make the sky cry or even coax her to put on a cloudy dress to cover up her azure body
to cover up her night jewellery and romantic pendant.
no one dared to whisper drought too loud
and still the word made your lips crack
but drought was here no doubt.
day after day after day
the land became so dry
trains stopped coming
cattle dying
men pleading
tears blocked by dust
small ponds were kidnapped
and too much time spent drinking water.
I dreamed it snowed last night, footprints seen everywhere.
I traded a pearl necklace to a beautiful Roman girl, who wanted it for rosary,
in exchange for her sweet sweat and moisture
I chilled my hands in the refrigerator
and travelled her curves and soft landscape
the sunrise at her neck, the sunset at her toes.
on a Sunday morning
people mourning
Alexander and I left
like a couple of failed rainmakers
no send off
just closed doors and dusty windows
left like a couple of tired windows.
during the day we follow the train tracks
at night I sit on Alexander’s back as he flies above.
and at the first flash of lightening
we will fall on our knees
the thunder like a slap on the face
the tears soon in our hair and staining our shirts.