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Unnamed
by Danielle Arsenault
We have come to mark the crash of this flesh
and stillness, to release ourselves of this life
unbidden.
We choose you river to swallow our loss
to cast your un-accusing eyes upon us—
you will not blame us, you will not understand either.
But you know what to do. You know how to turn a glacier’s
seasonal drip —imperceptible on the mountain top— into a roar
in the valley below. Lend us your tongue,
speak for us the language of letting go.
Can you smell the birch bark, the blood
seeped in, the tentative love between us?
See how tenderly our hands shape the photographs
into box and lid —all edges aligned, creases double bent
each fold a prayer?
Notice how delicately the box is blanketed, curled birch bark
from end to end as if it were a scroll; these careful gestures speaking
what we yet cannot.
Witness our communion of printed words, sodden and laid bare
against the grey of stone, then placed —quiet piece upon
quiet peace— a shawl of poetry embalms the life released.
Setting the box loose on silver slanted eddy, see it lace
the surface of the water, a stuttered moment loosens the heart
before sinking into the froth and swirl.
Our feet keep pace with the rush and tumble flow,
escorting this flutter of a child as it spins
here then away in invisible currents, bobs swiftly into view
then slips unexpectedly back under.
Halts our breath each time,
leaves us staring, strangely hopeful
for it to rise again.
Author Bio
Danielle Arsenault (TWS 2005) comes from a long line of Acadians, but is presently rooted on BC’s Sunshine Coast. She has a Certificate in Creative Writing, as well as a Masters degree in Education. She teaches Visual Writing, is a member of the em.dash Writers Collective, and has recently co-launched Peeled Onion Press in which text and image are fused under wax. She is at work on her second poetry manuscript.
