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wide mouth masons, shard glass, steamed

cabbage, boiling water n beets, some days

her countertops wept and the white tile floor

was a blistering purple sea

let us remember the curved lines bracketing her

parenthetical smile

sometimes she missed the 401 exit to _____ Street

and followed the broken line to Guysborough bi-

secting her fists, not long before the beetles came

and the old pines laid down their weary branches

she surrendered to Science: a needle-punctured

landscape, pretending Prince George had a coast-

line, she traded the shit stank of pulp for the scent

of Atlantic sea salt

she was a card reader, a fortune teller, a knocked-

over stop sign that said, No one promised you a life

without corners

she taught her daughter how to make a fist, to un-

tuck the thumb, expose it just enough to take the

impact of a punch without breaking

she giggled when he called it croshit, after she took

to crocheting afghans and doilies, nothing prepared

him for a widower's life of small cups of soup & half


she leaves behind a question mark, a flickering

light, and a northern village of bones, a peaceful scene

staged on a lake in the quiet corner of morning, as if

she has every intention

of coming back


Chantal Gibson

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