Canoe


A canoe expands the space in our lives
from lands upstream where white water rages
through rich valleys where the kingfisher thrives
to busy estuaries in stages
past quiet sloughs   mud flats   tidal gauges
So simple to dip a paddle and drift
towards dangerous waters images
of death by drowning rescue by airlift
contriving to make us face that ebb tide so swift

And in the retelling clichés abound
because it is tough to talk about death
death creeping towards us in silence wound
it’s hard to find a good hard rhyme for death
isn’t it?    there is no caress    no breath
in this dire word belonging below ground
its stress thuds like a sword into a sheath
impaling those present with dreadful sound
can we defend with blades unsheathed against death’s mound

I wish old age and cunning could trump youth
decrepitude defeat vitality
style and good manners transcend their uncouth
but this cannot be it’s just fantasy
nor can I escape death’s finality
with tricks I’ve learned   with wisdom I’ve come too
I know this now with clearer certainty
than when young and clever I had no clue
heedlessly and headlong    paddled my own canoe.




©  Dick Russell, 2012