Homeward
Driving Eastward
Cramp conditions
Comfort at first
But after Quebec City
A stretch is needed – a road side stop
Between silos pressed against blue sky
It is only three but a nocturnal breeze
Blows
Smelling of the St. Lawrence and cow shit
Purple lupines and canola
Point us home.
No talking now
from Toronto to Montreal
YES
but it faltered after Drumminville.
When we began listening to the air conditioning
Clouds of rich white with tarnished bottoms
Sit low—
Not disturbing the blue
Only stretching it
Opening space
Until it is once again familiar
Causing
slice upon slice of vast
between silos and white churches
East is right here
Not our east but the
First touches of it
And longing finds us and settles in
We spot it everywhere
Even in the highway ditches
It brings excitement
The kind we’ve known as children
As the remaining hours are counted
Maybe Edmunston by six
Through the Plaster Rock
by dark.
If there are no more stops
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