St. Lawrence

The immigrants we shared a bedroom with. The people who came here from far off places. Tuning their brains and radios to pick up our signals in their boats. I floated here on a barrel down the St. Lawrence. Christians heckled me on the way down, trying to sway me from my course. I persevered, but it wasn’t pretty. Please don’t tell anybody I’m here yet. I don’t know how long I’ll be staying. Oh, thank you. Yes. Hand me the telephone, could you? I’m locked outside in the snow. It’s falling in through the cracks in the roof. I can hear it smashing down softly. The children are going to have a lot of questions for us. We’d better get ready. Here, follow me. I’ve been down this way many times before. The chimes will tell us the time. The churchyard grows in the distance. I’m finding my way home in your eyes. I’ll be ready to go before long. Pull me into you. Put your arms over your head and we’ll slide down tubes and tunnels, and be re-birthed into the world.