EXXON VALDEZ

Cautious of our black pooch

who wags a gust of snow at him,

the postman clutches his can of mace

as he hands me my spring parcel:

Dominion seed onion bulbs,

green embryos in an airtight box.

White curd flakes set like skin

around acid-clipped maples and birches

in our fenced-in yard.

In Prince William Sound

blackened baby seals surge

hollow

against man-oiled shores,

the wide-eyed mother harp

fur greased stiff

like the quills of a porcupine

flails black-mouthed

in oil-stained sea,

her meaty flippers

no longer a delicacy

for Newfoundland freezers.

My son erupts from a dream

where black ants invade his Superman pillow

his breathing raucous

like mother seal hawking up

blackened mucus.

I cling to him

as the snow

salves

spring bud.

McRites Press                                                           ©Murielle Cyr 2012

Advertisements

About Murielle Cyr

Writer, organic gardener, soapmaker, listener.
This entry was posted in Stories and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s