J Blair Arsenault

Skidoo Lady

She turned her machine
to barren, high wilderness
and cut the engine on a hill.
One farmhouse light below,
an amber bead on snow,
marked the home of her motherhood.
Lights from houses along the road
were pearls
strung between dusky, winter hills.

The stars beckoned to explain her.
She throttled hard from the crest,
held it open until she broke free
and touched down on the back of the Milky Way.
She roiled a wake of cosmic light,
banked hard around Castor and Pollux,
outran Orion’s hunter dogs and
paused to break Andromeda’s chains with an axe;
cruised through a cooling nebulae,
drawing behind her
the coloured wake of her time.

Then down again to the field,
soft pooming into new, moon-glow snow,
descending on the logging trail,
to the hard snow-packed road
lined with spruce,
straight to her back door
and the barking dogs.

She slapped with a glove
snow from her arms and thighs.
“I’m home,” she said upon entering,
astonishing the kitchen-warmed Saturday crowd
from their tea and cards.
Stardust fell from her hair onto linoleum
and the colour of creation blazed in her eyes.

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