Sometime on the sixth day

…the Lamb slain from the foundation
of the world… Revelation 13:8

It stands there
blinking, surprised
then begins to ba-a-a-
this woolly,
trusting
easily-led-astray animal
just created

and a shudder goes through heaven.

© 2007 – Violet Nesdoly (Family Reunion)

Canadian Rivers

Headwaters drip from snowy melt of mountain glaciers
gurgle down glistening rock faces in nameless rivulets.
Fed by rain and sibling trickles they become sinuous streams
adolescent-eager in descent, unafraid to dash against boulders
froth into canyons, course over rock beds till they reach the flat.

Mature and strong they gouge valleys, meander through meadows
nurture forests, bears and eagles, rejuvenate farms and hamlets
flow regal yet restless through villages and cities
under bridges and over tunnels
ever pressing on to an ocean destination.

The watermark of veins, arteries and capillaries on our maps
they carve their initials, scrawl their signatures
all over Canada: Snake, MacKenzie, Coppermine
Exploits, Hillsborough, Saint John, Margaree, Moisie
St. Lawrence, Red, Qu’Appelle, Athabasca, Cowichan…

Named by Indians and explorers for Indians and explorers
they inscribe the plot lines of our history
hide the gold and call the salmon
propel the ferries, carry the logs, barges and ships
pave thoroughfares for tugboats, speedboats, kayaks, canoes.

We settle beside them for their sustenance and beauty
feel betrayed when, with spring-fevered earthlust
their swift-flowing waters bite off chunks of our land.
Then we fear them, dredge them, soil them,
treat them, drink them, dam them.

I have toe-squished the mud of the South
Saskatchewan, pulled Jackfish from the North
been awed by the Hell’s Gate fierceness of the Fraser
spied loons and cormorants gulping fish on the Nicomekl
otters cavorting in the Serpentine

driven miles beside the Thompson
as it winked at me through clearings
admired the canyons carved by the Bulkley
dreamed the legends of the Kispiox
listened from a tent to the night secrets of the Skeena …

Oh for more lifetimes
to make them all mine.

© 2007 by Violet Nesdoly

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This poem was first published at Utmost Christian Writers Canadian site where it received honorable mention in 2007 Canadian Landscape Poetry Contest. The river in the photo (name unknown to me) meanders across the Alberta prairie between Lethbridge and Calgary.

Stare into the dark

Beside my face glowing, red – 11:58 …11:59

I stare
into the dark.
Somewhere a train
whistle blows
sharp,
short.
Sirens wail, then fade.
Dog barks.
Car vrooms a challenge,
squeals,
roars on
but my tensed body pleads
for that familiar hum…
then
door slam,
click,
step, step, creak,
the sweet sound of teenage feet…

Beside my face, glowing red – 12:16….12:17…

© 2003 by Violet Nesdoly

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This poem was published in the May 23rd, 2003 issue of the Mennonite Brethren Herald.

Mother Bear

Whimsical furniture set made by my brother Ken Sperling

I am the one
who puts oatmeal on the list
so that we will not have a morning
without porridge.

I am the one who cooks it
stirring its volcano bubbles
from gruel to a thick
predictable pudding.

I am the one who dishes it
into bowls — large, medium, small
then calls the family
to the table.

I am the one who shows baby
how to cool it by blowing on his spoon
and the one who gives him a sip of milk
when he wails, “It’s still too hot!”

I am the one who interrupts his crying,
“Let’s go for a walk,”
the one who distracts his hungry whining
with dandelion greens and wild strawberries.

I am the one who says,
“You’re probably right,”
when Papa grumbles, “Surely the porridge
is cool by now.”

I am the one who sees wet footprints
on the front porch
grass tracked
into the house.

I am the one who notices
bowls have been moved
one empty, chairs shuffled
one broken!

I am the one to follow the footprints
up the stairs past two rumpled beds
and see in the third
Goldie?

I am the one scandalized
with Mrs. Locks. What kind of mother
allows her kid
that much freedom?

And I am the one tempted
to tie Baby Bear
down with my apron
when, after Goldie has jumped

out the window
and run away,
he begs, “Can I look for her?
I want to play.”

© 2007 by Violet Nesdoly

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This poem was first published at Poets Online. It was in response to the July 2007 prompt, to take the story, characters, title, theme (as much as you need) from one of the Brothers Grimm’s fairy tales and transform it for your own purposes. You can read the prompt along with the published poems here.

Fire Test

After the painting “Escape for thy life” by Julius Schnorr von Carolsfeld

Who are these strangers
to command we leave? Right now?
You wear the embroidered robe
I’ll take the pouch.
What about food and drink
our girls’ betrothed?

Why are we rushing
from all we’ve ever wanted–
my beautiful home
the market so handy
your place at the city gate
our hope of grandsons?

Wait. I’m hot and thirsty
out of breath.
This is like those desert days
being led about
by uppity Aunt Sarai
and fanatical Uncle Abe
dusty road, heat
sweaty body, sore feet.

Where are we going?
I’ve had enough of traveling!
I refuse to take another step
turn back to everything
I own, have ever wanted, loved.

What?
Is that smoke on the horizon?
Are those flames?
My house, my things, my dreams
all I have ever lived for!
My beloved Sod—

© 2008 by V. Nesdoly

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“Fire Test” was first published in the Winter 2008-2009 edition of Time of Singing.