fugitive

spring: the river swells unabashedly and

takes what it doesn’t own, pulling the soft

earth into it, taking, taking.

soon we don’t recognize what has always

been familiar: the wet reeds we comb with our

hooked fingers, the muddy cusp between depth and

shoal where fish dare to circle our open hands.

 

one morning we wake to a flood in our living room:

water infringing through every gap we’ve failed to notice.

our belongings are carried from one room

to another, a truant river bringing in the wild.

our father’s record collection floats in pieces

through the kitchen: nashville skyline, blonde on

blonde, highway 61 revisited. ferried objects reach

the far side of our house and press against the wall,

piling there. our mother anchors herself to what hasn’t

been moved, braced against the tempest that rolls in.

outside: another hard rain.

Published online April 01 2013.

Chelsea Comeau is a writer from Burnaby whose work has been published in the Claremont Review and the short fiction anthology Oysters and Chocolate: Erotic Stories of Every Flavour. One of her pieces was selected by Amber Tamblyn in 2011 as the winning entry for BUST Magazine’s poetry competition. She is a past recipient of Douglas College’s annual Creative Writing Award and is currently working on her first full-length collection of poems.


Poetry Only cover image

This piece was published in ‘Poetry Only,’ the Spring 2013 issue of CV2.

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