“New Gord Downie work dedicated to boy who died running away from residential school.” CBC. Sept. 9, 2016.
Unlucky Bird
mark this mourning, last night
there was frost, the old
women are optimistic but the birds
know it will snow, make
slow escapes against
guns and the gunmetal grey
of institutions supported by institutional
insistation on standardization, the road
side stands are all closed
the talking talking talking tourists have
all returned to suburban side lines, the fire
weed is out bloomed, gone
to cotton and the strange
sorrow autumn brings, catch
in red sumac arrows, the blue
berry season over but the rose
hips have sweetened, still its
carnations everyone should be wearing, school
has gone in, soon
it will go out, thanks
giving a holiday for fat
people in fat houses housing
all kinds of regrets you would never
have thought to think about, that’s
what all the thick carpets are about, under
the freshly-beaten rugs tiny
red fingers poke out, quick
clean up, company
has come, sitting now
with a knife to cut the unlucky bird, the candle
goes out, a cold
wind accuses the room, someone
left the window open, forgot
to lock up, with
his hand on the door your grandfather says
we did what we could to make them civilized, outside
a whisky jack raids the feeder, cries out
wenjack wenjack wenjack
over and over as if the word
would mean something to an ear that was listening
Photo: istockphoto/FunkinsDesigns
