Sign

I was born in Montreal
A winter’s slip that bloomed in fall
Due my father’s lot in life
I got his name and I killed his wife
As if her blood I’d broken through
Had never been enough for two…
So I was sent out early on
To cutting black ice on the pond
To lying flat and pulling free
Whatever might rise up to me

I held my tongue for seven years
Fluttered my hands, closed my ears—
As if deaf to every word
Refusing every song I heard
That might connect me to this ground
And hold me should I speak its sound;
So silence spoke for me instead
And hovered like the passing dead
Whose prayer is but a laugh unfurled
Above this lost edge of the world

When I was twelve my father fled
He left me all he was and had—
His hammer and a dying fire
An empty vein, and one desire:
To lead my pony from the mines
And ride him hard beyond the time
Of broken, long-forgotten souls
Who become their fathers in these holes
That spark and fume and smoke and seethe
And claim these hills but can’t claim me

I was wild at twenty-three
My burning mind turned to the sea
And a sour engine room
Of a war ship, hoping war came soon—
I spent my rage in tiny towns
Wherever we might run aground;
And every face that met my eye
Was calling on some wish to die
But if I stood and drank alone
Then that wish became my own

The years ran as if for their lives
I, the shameless beau of a governor’s wife—
Standing just outside of view
Holding hats and coats and shoes…
Then running guns for a lost decade
Posing as a doctor’s aide—
I pushed pins in maps to show
How to stop a plague or make it go;
And then they took me out in chains
When a secret shared had changed the game

But, all those days have fled somehow
And nothing occupies me now—
Except for this strange thought of you
Who sat before me back in school
And trailed a rope of braided hair
Across the back rail of your chair
And learned to sign your name in air
And read from lips –oh, I might’ve dared
To simply move my own so you
Could read please love me, and might have too