- site of our first house, first felled tree -
my mother names forefathers, brothers
and wives who step blackgowned from family Bibles
into summer - and seem with their men
from cool dark to watch mother and child
cross the glowing field but gone like Indians
when we enter their silent tangle of home
in the middle
a sag like an unmarked grave
sunk with loss - I search skunkweed, raspberries
for a sword, skull, piece-of-eight - find crockery shards
a blemished tin cup, bleached two-by-four
when I look back
from green and yellow hay, purple clover
the pines drawn together frown
like a knot of men annoyed outside church
names of wildflowers in my mother’s hand
- eggs-and-butter, black-eyed Susan -
I’ll know till petals wilt
- other names forgotten, I run after
her golden-brown thighs
swishing through summer hay
Author Bio:
James Thurgood was born in Nova Scotia, grew up in Windsor, Ontario, and now lives in Calgary, Alberta. He has been a labourer, musician, and teacher – not necessarily in that order. His poems have appeared in various journals (most recently, Umbrella Factory, Quatrain Fish, Spadina Literary Review) anthologies, and in a collection (Icemen/Stoneghosts, Penumbra Press). He is also the author of His Own Misfortune, a work-in-progress. (thurgoodwordsalad.blogspot.com/).