Northwest Territories Literacy Council

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POEM

So This is a Poem For Now by Sheree Fitch

But first…what exactly is a poem?
A ripple of syllables, a music with words
A verse that rhymes…. perhaps.
Is a poem a chant, a rant, a song, a lullabye
A drum beat, a prayer before a feast
Yes. Certainly.
Or the rain on the roof
The rain on the roof the rain on the rain on the rain on the roof?
Maybe, too, the dance of swallows
as they follow the flow of the mighty MacKenzie?
Deh Cho.
& that river's roar, gurgle, laughter, crackle
as the ice breaks each spring

Perhaps a poem is a wide-eyed child
heart open
or an elder remembering
a ptarmigan in a tamarack tree

A poem breathes in every moment
Every NOW we have been given
And now? This now?
This "now" is Fort Simpson and I learn
The way a child tastes new words

Let me tell ya….

It's not everywhere you go that within minutes of arrival
You're warned to watch for bears if you walk alone
"And by the way here's the hut of Albert Faillie
'Man found dead in his outhouse' his claim to sponsors"
Not everywhere you get to eat bannock and caribou stew
Or look into an old photograph and see a dignified man
who looks back at you in the eyes of his grandson. Now.
Nor is it everywhere we get to golf on a green in the Arctic
Shouting "great balls of fire" and "where's my ball?"
Or get the advice -"just connect."

Connection.

A poem is a connection-yes--- not of words or syllables or cleverly
arranged phrases but a connection of people places races
And so of course, for now, we become the poem.
Where we call home becomes the poem.
And all of us (here now) create this home
The poem sings: be here now
So that tomorrow?
Some adult or child
Connects letter to letter
A word opens a world
And it all just connects….
And so it rained today. But.
Conditions were perfect.
Yes, the golf course under construction
This poem still under revision
The work of literacy is endless
As we-all of us- keep learning
Masicho! (thank-you)

For Alison

In a sapphire blue revamped Vietnam chopper
(that must have battle scars beneath)
We lift upwards, hover with a weightlessness
Over the Mackenzie and float.
For an hour we live within the death of our bodies
A Spirit flies with us: your father reaches out for you
Through cloud, and windswirl, perched far atop a distant mountain
Crinkled photos tucked in pockets of memory unfurl
Not negatives. The proof. This is the North.
And you are here with him and he with you.
A gentle landing. Earth bound once more
We find our legs again--the always elusive sense of balance
But what peace there was in holding onto air
To lose and find our selves above the earth
To know: we exist intertwined with northern sky
River, spirit, soul.

Sheree Fitch