The Arches

The Arches, Gros Morne National Park

Driving back down the coast, now. Gunned
for St. Anthony two days ago, chasing icebergs.
Missed the big one by a week. Sea and sky seem
to meet, but look closer. Squint, they never marry
– horizon is engagement made indefinite.

Staring at Labrador’s Southern shore,
we force small talk about weather,
how the car won’t heat up. Kidding ourselves,
we’ll try again next year. I couldn’t tell up
from down. You’d take to the tent hours early,
hardly a word between us. I stood on the beach,
slammed cans of Keith’s. Numb.

The few bergs left in the bay broke up
overnight. Pretending to sleep, we keened
our ears to their calving, Dragunov crack
and slow splash as each new piece
reasserted itself, got used to letting go.

At the Arches we stopped, stretched our legs.
For a moment we stood together, watched waves
gnawing rock. Your thick green sweater broke
my heart as I leaned on the car, watched you
comb the beach for nothing in particular

is Pinecone.

Published On: March 23, 2017
Permanent Location:

Volume 9, Issue 2
  March 23, 2017


An Introduction
Forget Magazine

Remember to Remember
Cole Mash

Saskatoon Celebrity
Erin Hiebert

The Arches
Douglas Walbourne-Gough

The Weight of Things
Bronwyn Berg

Middle Initial Sequel

Feb 12, 2001 - Present

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7


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ISSN: 1710 193X

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