The Nelligan Review

I’m in North Hatley—writing this post, and I look to the river, the Massawippi, and it’s moves, a darkness in the dark, and there's ice flowing to the edges of it.
The silhouette of the mountain, stripped, naked trees, and I want to climb it.
From the river, I see myself surfacing, running naked to you.
And now you’re with me, looking back. Why? I’m not. I’m looking at the clean, unbroken lines of undisturbed snow. My foot behind me, moving forward, and I look at you, and tell you, we’re in the future.
You don’t know, and you say, are we?
Yes.
You look down, and I say, no, there. The clean, unbroken lines of undisturbed snow.
My foot moving forward, breaking—smashing, and I say, you walk too.
And in the coming nights, you’ll dance, me watching, remembering, the breaking—smashing, of clean, unbroken lines of undisturbed snow.
Does it make sense? Any of it?
Does it have to?
But I’ve been back there—so very used, hard and taken.
And I’m breaking—smashing, and I see you now, running naked from the cold moving darkness of the river, and you’re screaming. You’re crying.
These prints we leave, visible only for a few days, then gone, and we walk more.
The river flowing on, its darkness in the dark, and in there we see, the duplicity of love and time and place.
It’s raining, I can hear it on the roof above me, your eyes looking away, and you say, the river, dark and moving, it scares me, still, and I say, I know, I had a dream about it, too, in the future, and all the unbroken lines of undisturbed snow, still to come.

And there you go, and it’s time to get to work, and I guess, this was a way of saying—The Nelligan Review is coming… October 3rd, and we’ll want what’s real and what’s imagined from you: essays & reviews, fiction & poetry, art & photography.
See you then.