CanLit Poem
So, I was chillin like a villain in Canadian Literature today, and this poem tried to bust out of my head. So I wrote it down, to save it the trouble of popping my eyeballs out. It was rad.
They tell me
that writing
about the land
isn't poetry
"You shouldn't do that,
It degrades
what it means
to be
Canadian"
But how can I not?
The land
built my family
and my family
built the land
we are tied together
like the towels
and blankets
that make the treefort
of my life.
well, bush fort,
actually...
of poplar
and silver willow.
I grew up
on it
in it
like cream of wheat
and 'fixed up' oatmeal
grandma's flapjacks
and bunnyhugs
with kittens
in the pouches.
A wild prairie child
roaming this tamed wild
rambling over
the hills
the valleys
the bush
the space
traversed by cowpaths
and coyotehowls
Now, even...
city-slicked
Educated
Literated
addlepated...
Autumn still smells
like slightly fermented leaves
fresh duck blood
gun powder
apple pie
crisp mornings
fresh earth...
...home...