In the newly fallen snow, crows
scatter at the approach of cars,

uncovering the carcass
of a deer, the twin curves

of its ribcage exposed like cupped
hands around a match, except there is no flame

in the white arch, pale white
with a few stringy streaks of red.

Is this Actaeon’s fate? To finally outrun
his pack of hounds – trained by him

to tackle prey – only to be side-swiped
by a pick-up. The truck’s headlights hunting

the asphalt in the middle of the night.

~ Ian LeTourneau

Ian LeTourneau’s poetry has appeared widely in journals and anthologies, and twice won CBC’s Alberta Anthology. A chapbook, Defining Range, was published by Gaspereau Press in 2006, and a full-length collection, Terminal Moraine, was brought out by Thistledown Press in 2008. A transplanted Maritimer, he lives and works in Athabasca. He also occasionally blogs at

“I’m not from Alberta originally; I’m a transplanted Maritimer—so I’m very interested in any metaphor that explores that feeling of limbo, of being between two cultures, of being between two concepts of home.”

Read more of Ian LeTourneau’s poetry:
Pump Jacks

Editor’s note: This poem is from Home and Away – a sequel to the bestselling Writing the Land (2007). Look for one poet to be featured each day as Alberta poets ponder the question “what is home?” and explore our complex relationship with working on, living with, exploiting and protecting our land and our home. For more information about the project, click here.

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