A year ago or so I
brought my pen to joy—
feeling less felt these days
en masse. It was
in gratitude for skates:
my husband in them
gangly as Bambi among
the other masked ice-lovers
circling the square. This year
weeks of pneumonia weakened
in deep new snow his foot rolls
in its ski. His ankle twists.
Limping bruised, kept inside
still and again (the pandemic like
Milton Acorn’s “sled over gravel”
in a poem about the classes)
he is suffering. Freezing rains
glaze the red berried trees
overnight, and slender filaments
of sleeping life hang like holy icicles.
But he cannot walk the dogs he loves
or breathe easy past the window.
And I am at a loss to help him.
About this Poem
Chantel Lavoie lives in Kingston with her husband, two sons, two cats, and two dogs. She teaches in the Department of English, Culture, and Communication at the Royal Military College. Her second book of poetry, This is About Angels, Women, and Men, appeared with Mansfield Press (2021). Her first collection, Where the Terror Lies (2012)is available at KFPL.
