Last Winter on the Farm
(Inspired by David Dodd Lee)
Waxwings, I learned later they were called, the birds
that wintered in the cedars.
All day long they’d dart in and out of the huge tree
that hung like a waterfall
over our verandah in the Ottawa Valley. I trailed
crumbs, on the splintered planks to a box turned on its side
who knows why I thought it would be a warmer home or if that was even my intent
I remember the dark line of sunflower seeds creating a ragged path
in the crinkled snow. I remember the crack
of departing footsteps. Nothing warmed
the square of light in our living room wall revealing
a pale distant sun.
The birds, grey breasted and flying in pairs, would lift
the seeds while others, yellow or rust
darted through the branches
trailing frozen air.
When I looked outside I saw ravens
waiting in the gaunt trees by the field
walking boldly around the tractor parked
for the night and the firewood piles
that fortressed the barn.
At night I closed my eyes
and listened to the wind howl in the maple bush.
The snow, if you let it, could form a drift against
your body, the wind hurling it over your small warm life
burying you under the crest of a white curl
I remember my step-daughters,
their hair drifting in a northern lake, their half-open eyes dazed
by the moon like a fingernail
of light shining
silver on the dock.
Soon spring will force lime-green arrows through
the dead coyote’s ribs,
and the man who used to move above me
will slide away like woodsmoke over snow.
Johanna Antonia Zomers is a playwright with Stone Fence Theatre and writes a weekly column for a Canadian newspaper. Her first novel When the Light Enters was published with Pastora de la Vega Press. She is at work on a sequel and a collection of essays. She currently lives on a farm in the Donegal Settlement in Ontario and hopes to return to spending creative winters in Spain and Ireland