Death Comes to Saskatchewan

In the mountains he arrives suddenly—
a slab of rock drops from the bluffs north of
Coffee Creek making you one with the cab of your truck.

Or a mudslide or avalanche, sounding
like an approaching train, sweeps you from its
track. With luck your body resurfaces late in the summer.

Or you reach to change radio stations
at the wrong curve on Highway 6, and plunge
five-hundred long feet to the black surface of Slocan Lake.

But here you have a chance—five or ten
minute’s grace to make your peace, time to fire
a few feeble, long overdue apologies into the never-ending blue,

while he strides across the fields,
straight for your place, grain parting like the seas,
his cowl and cloak billowing behind him in a bone-rattling wind.

~ Greg Simison

Greg Simison is a poet, playwright and columnist currently living in Moose Jaw. He is the author of four books: Disturbances, 1982, Thistledown Press; The Possibilities of Chinese Trout, 1986, Okanagan College Press; What the Wound Remembers, 1993, Borealis Press; and The Moon Road, (chapbook), 1999, Really Small Vernon Press.

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