sometimes an unbearable sadness
falls over you
a gray blanket tattered
at the edges
my mother used to give me
those blankets to sleep with
when we lived with my father
in the bush in northern Canada
where elk filled summer fields
at midnight in flowers
beneath a haunted arctic light
I would watch the elk
through a chink in the wall
a blanket pulled around my bare shoulders
the majestic elk strange and heavy heads
bent beneath the sky
my mother would rise early
bringing them apples in her hands
her slender white body
approaching carefully
across the grass
an elk would break ranks
cautiously approaching her
huge flanks rolling slowly
beneath the sly
the massive head descending
wide dark eyes meeting
gently taking the apple from her hand
gently taking the apple from her hand
a woman
and her strange elk
surrounding her
in the centter
beneath an arctic sun
huge hairy bodies
smelling of dust
mountains
and silence
this silence
as most never imagine
their snorts
and breathing
a strange language
of prayers
moving
about
her
through
her
wrapping her
in stars and pines
lifting her into
black northern nights
and deserts
of snow
a fallen angel
a fallen angel
with her lovers
lifting her toward
the sun on the stairs
of their antlers
toward the stars
near the heavens
true heavens
awake with fire
such as most
never imagine
I wake up in the belly of night
a nightmare pounding through
the shadows of my room
hoofbeats echoing to the
galloping of my heart
I feel a presence watching
my body shivering
ice water beneath the skin
turning my head
toward the hall
death is standing in the doorway
dumbly mouthing my name
death is an old woman
her mouth a gray purse of leather
rasping something I canīt understand
her hair is writhing with snakes
death begins shape shifting
her twisted limbs straightening
into willow branches
snakes becoming grasses
the tonguesof so many buried dead
her eyes are whirling galaxies
opening her mouth
a long mournful wailing
a small black stream
flowing at her feet
winds tearing through the house
scattering papers like dead leaves
the doors flapping wildly
like shuddering tongues
birds flying through the windows
I try to move but I canīt
because I am rooted
in the taste of earth
filling my mouth
my arms wrapped in bark
stretching above me in prayer
toward a sky
that is so distant
there is a field
the grasses are conspiring
with the wind
what are they saying
they will not tell me
what they are saying
I am afraid
I am afraid of what
this night holds
yes
it makes toward me brother
and thereīs nothing we can do
*Rodney DeCroo was born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, but he has lived in Canada for many years. Editor, poet, and articulist.