Somewhere
Maybe it’s the surprise destination
on the Spring Blossom Bus Tour that ends
in a cherry orchard in Belleville
swaying with tipsy bees.
Perhaps it’s the Laurentian meadow
where the stag with sparrows perched
on his antlers grazes the tall grass.
My brother stops the car to admire him,
“Too bad his paradise is a meat farm.”
Was somewhere the river I skated on
holding my dad’s moonlit hand?
Is it the ice floe my children joke
they’re going to put me on?
Somewhere could be my home,
the doorbell between my thighs.
Yes, somewhere could be a pinhole,
black hole or parallel universe.
It might be an urn where I can’t wake up
to wonder if somewhere is
somewhere over the rainbow,
or the dream where I’m following
a trickle of water upstairs
to a vase of green tendrils.
Author: Donna Langevin
Photo: Pascal Debrunner on Unsplash
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