OUR CATEGORY : Marion Brooker


This Canada, eighty-five hectares a gift of gratitude Loam rich with decomposition of bone, marrow, blood, flesh, sinews, sweat. Echoes of guns, screams, tramping boots fading with time The sun of this Canada does not span a continent from sea to sea Does not flood golden carpeted canola fields framed in mountain shadows Or reflect […]

I Will Speak

I will speak of a rolling pin not as a maker of pies but as a keeper of memories, a teller of tales. I will touch the handles and know that a young bride first touched these handles carved in the quiet Quebec evenings by her youngest brother the one left behind, a young man […]

An Anthem

I will thunder the drum of stampeding buffalo. I will cry with the crashing scorched bones in the sun I will ride the train whistle over ripe prairie grain fields, over land yet untouched by the hand on the plow I will raise my glass to monuments of loneliness of sacrifice of hopes to broken […]


I run barefoot in spring not because of need but because of desire splash in roadside puddles, feel mud ooze up through toes Feet feeling winter retreat deep into the earth, hiding, regrouping. My feet drum the mating call of spring. I run barefoot in summer run barefoot until calluses no longer wince at each […]