The Pioneer Poems:
The Life and Times of Alice Maude
by Leslie Smith Dow
For Darrin
Cover artwork:
Original oil painting "Cruise Control" © 2015 Debra A. Horwitz
© 2015 Leslie Smith Dow. All rights reserved.
ALICE MAUDE
looks directly
at the camera
dares
her picture to be taken
laughs,
and gives away her soul
me,
I always look away
or blink
at the last minute
RELENTLESS GREEN CHILDREN
like children of nuns
on iron bedstead
on pillow of sugar sacks
we slept through
the orange fire of summer
our room full of the freshness of apples
the pink and white
of June roses
the warm breeze of new laundry
while out the window
Maude bent over her plots of sun
relentless green searing the grasses
and rustling the trees
in our dreams
we flew down to join you
LONG GRASS OF TWILIGHT
first the Indians came
then the gypsies
all travellers welcomes on our land
we too were merely passing through
in the long grass of twilight
we and our small cousins crept
to the edge of their smoky campfires
to see with their eyes
the dancing the singing
longing to leave the land
as much as they loved it
ME AND MARGERY
did the work of men between us five
pretty Helen too frail for threshing
Charlotte and Beatrice too proud
in the fields we laboured
beside our father
without sons
later in the bad times
it was me pulled the plough
Marge guiding the blade
through the worthless earth
no men to speak of
two boys in Flanders
Jack up to his elbows
in axle grease and drink
JACK'S BLUE STREAK
her hair curled in long waves
to her lap
when I first saw her
I'd take the car
head north, anywhere
to clear the city from my mind
breathe the grease
and poison
from my lungs
a horse in the bend of the road
legs clawing sky
Alice Maude astride
cursing a blue streak
threatening me with her whip
I knew she'd do it always
THE LOMBARDY FAIR
semi-darkness
he sized her up
his blue eyes
her dark hair
confident
running his hands over her
over her flanks
trembling like a filly
THE BONES OF HOME
these walls are smoothed
by rocks and pounding
waves along the shore
the very bones of home
on which the flesh
of family thrives
heat of afternoon
warms the windows
through the cool of evening
and of troubles
these pine boards
fairly sing
the history of us
years from now I'll feel you
on wet nights and blustery days
a dull ache inside
a reminder of the bones of home
MONDAY IN THE FORENOON
Monday in the forenoon
Alice Maude worked in the far field
where the Lefroy train passed by
trainmen blew the whistle hard
at her red hair streaming
black skirts flying
laughed at the three runaways
Tuesday heard the hiss of steam
Alice Maude stripped off her skirts
blindfolded the chestnuts
smiled and ploughed in petticoats
that day the 12:05
was late arriving
WAR
Days were war enough
for Marge and me
those years we ploughed
and milked alone
scratched the soil
for seeds that barely grew
bleary nights our fingers
mumbled over hand-knit socks
and sugar cookies for the Red Cross
nights I dreamed
of mud and shrieking horses
blackened hands grasping at my legs
the smell of mustard gas
THE MARRIAGE
Even at 5 a.m. you knew
hardly time for dressing
no boots for speed in the early darkness
You could run for miles
to those far blue-wet fields
soft-throated cows
moist nostrils
welcoming your smell
heavy udders waiting
for the gentle pressure of your hands
so like him, pleading
pressing his greasy pencil stub
against the paper
"Dear Maude,
whatever is the matter"
ONE TWO THREE FROGS
One two three frogs
exploded into blood
at the end of Johnny's gun
I never thought of catching them that way
cried past all the cattails
on the path to home
those three shots reverberating
and my heart pounding
behind the clumps of cedar
mud on my belly
when Johnny tired of the frogs
GENERATIONS
ninety years and more
for one of us to live
dreams you wanted
she wanted
she sealed your fate
you sealed hers
in denial
in pride
and opened my world to possibilities
ninety years and more
these dreams have slept
extinguished in sorrow
trodden by time
and now the time for which
the two generations
prepared the third has come
now what becomes this fourth
inside me?
POPLAR
who remembers the night
the giant poplar crashed
down dark and stormy
along the drive
missing the house by inches
and the bedroom
where the babies slept?
Alice Maude saw
shut her eyes tight
and wished it fall
somewhere else
Grace across the road
up all night with her sick child
saw Alice Maude
rain-soaked on the lawn
like a sleepwalker
when the tree came down
PATHFINDER
in those days the lost
turned to Seth
not God
who blazed trails
through virgin woodlands
and elsewhere
marched with the rest
the dawn miles
to Montgomery's Tavern
his steps still leave marks
i
n these parts
too big for me to follow
SNAKE IN THE GRASS
Alice Maude was afraid of one thing
the undoing of women since Eve
but this was no smooth
talking serpent
this one was dead
even before Alice Maude
and her sisters began taking the radial car south to school
years it spent
unmolested unmolesting
resting in formaldehyde
until the fateful day
Alice Maude
took grade 10 biology
dissection of her mortal enemy
not for her
nr her dream as things transpired
her refusing hand clasped and plunged
into the jar by Mr. Gardiner
snake and Alice Maude
fainted dead away
never again forced
to sit in any classroom
Alice Maude worked instead
on her knees
scrubbing floors of others
over a bucket of soapy water
they met again
Alice Maude didn't recognize him
outside of the jar
JACK WAS EVERY INCH (A GANGSTER)
look at that car
he drives up
in his pinstripe suit and tie
he's no banker
but he handles a gun
knows all the cops
he's as bulletproof
as his bathtub gin
some flying ace he is
behind the wheel
speed means nothing
to a man with no limits
first for love
then for money
Jack was every inch
EMPTY HANDS
through the dragon's breath of morning
it was me
who ran barefoot
through its dew-blue jaws
and over the bald hill
five miles there and back
before mother stoked the fire for porridge
collecting cows
among the velvety green
aching for me
to take away their fullness
nuzzling my empty hands
BELL EWART
Bell Ewart was as beautiful as her name
and then she drowned
they said her father named this land for her
a memory soon to be a village
low on the shores of the squalling lake
tiny wood frame houses
crammed full of families
no money for foundations
no need to collect the floodwaters
that every spring washed away the roads
leaving
Easter gifts
embedded in dirty ice
how could he know the children of those houses
would scratch and call out "Belly Wart!"
smelling raw
and of raw sewage
wherever they swam
TRAIN SONG 5:15 a.m.
Green to the waist half-hidden
by the field of darkness
she stood before
relinquishing herself
to the bare arms
of waving wheat
her bare toes tracing
the arc of the sun
over his belly
the brakeman saw
their imprint
as he went by
he watched her slipping her dress back on
THE WILDCAT FOREST
rode through one heat
where wildcats jumped
pine to pine and down
and on and on
over foaming ground and hissing embers
sizzling on horseflesh
careening over the smouldering black
where no wildcats dance
only wild fire
spitting holes through her riding cloak
curling the ends of her hair
FRESH DUCK FEATHERS
from the washing hung
still warm
upstairs on a rainy Monday
comes a soft smell
of air
and fresh duck feathers
that by Tuesday
will be pillows and sheets so smooth
under your downy hair
ALICE MAUDE'S DREAM OF THE GREEN COBRA
you hold up the world
in your green coils
and tell me the why of everything
that is why I am afraid
I reach for my hoe
to sever your beautiful neck
none of your apples for me today
APPLE
pink white red yellow
the apple trees are blooming
in her red windbreaker
hair untied now trickling
past her shoulders
Alice Maude steps into her garden
waving a little want
tipped with rabbit's fur
Mother Nature-of-the-Cross-Pollinators
here a squash
there a melon
over there a pumpkin
pausing a moment under beaming moist sun
even the bees are glad
as she takes off her straw hat
the lambs and kids run bleating to the fence
at the sound of her voice
to take strong tea perched on a camp stool
under an island of snow apple tree
her feet soothed on fallen white petals
MOONKIST
no soft light
spreads over the stalks of last
years ripened corn field
alone and still alone she sits
shepherding darkness round its edges
until the new moon rising
catches itself in the pines
unwraps her moonkist bundles
patting one by one
into the expectant earth
a bean seed falls
from her tattered apron
as she steps inside
her camp stool waits
beside the field
unfolded
vigilant
SQUASH ON GAMBLE AVENUE
tendril green at first
a delicate shoot then vines
grow up the roof
Alice Maude thought eaves troughs
would do to plant
the little seeds of squash
the boys had brought
but Hubbards mutant monsters
were what grew
hulks their bony knuckles
tore up and under the shingles
Jack! Jack! she called half-joking
under the beanstalks
and into the rustling leaves of cattle
and soon
the air was filled with
smells of baking bread
RASPBERRIES
golden honey pail tied to her waist
Alice Maude moves quiet through the dew
voices of swallows
the chilly morning blue
webs of wet and green
picks the ruby raspberries
holds them soft a moment
in her ungloved hands
savours the bitter
sweetness of blooming red
her lips on early summer
waits for the sting of thorns
and stain of blood
fresh on her thighs
UNDER THE PURPLE PLUM TREE
racoon's revenge
exploded out of dirt
dead as that one hot day
fur guts and bones
buried but not deep enough
screamed did Alice Maude
and swore the earth rumbled
with the spirit of all creatures
GUMPA'S LAUGH LINE
since age four
I have borne and laughed
this mark for you
th
is china scar inside my wrist
white like razors or slashing bits
of broken chamber pot
I slipped and smashed
got soaking
and give stitches
by this tiny line
my love for you will never shatter
not like your chamber pot
DEATH OF A GROUNDHOG
on a day that held no clouds
the valley droned quiet with life
under the heat of sleep
under the drowsing heat of sleep
exited by the screeching heat bug
a song of rusty nails on iron
on a day that held no clouds
only a sudden snap and scream
was heard
up to the top of the barn
to the top of the tin roof
and then no sound not even
the pulsing vein
in the throat of the throbbing leopard frog
nor a murmur of reeds
no whisper of flight
from the fledgling birds
as a shadow jumped once
and up and away
on a day that held no clouds
RAPTURE
on cold and snowy winter mornings
Alice Maude
takes the red pail
puts on her red coat big boots
takes my hand over drifts and drifts
so big
opens wide the stable door
so snow seeps in
neighs and cackles
animals stomp impatience
but patience the sun beams
down the cobwebs
on our sweeping and shovelling breath
foams foggy
new light draws haloes on the straw
and on Alice Maude's boots
covered in muck
a look of rapture on her face
SIX BLIND MICE