Noah Zacharin | AN EXPAT’S PLAINT

AN EXPAT’S PLAINT

of course such a thing
no longer exists. move back?
mais si, sans hesitation.
with eyes shut, this gyroscope skull turns
to where the mountain suckles a living blue
and the fleuve moves to salt.

“we’re all poets here.”
was an ally in every quartier,
nights of melody and Brador.
nothing I wanted more
than a spiral staircase,
curls of iron through which to sight the demoiselles,
then take aim with a few
choice notes from the cedar-top.

of course I would return                                   if it existed still.

but the scene stutters, the film
is missing many frames. the splicing glue
comes from hooves of the hobbled horse.

and that, friends, explains grumbles and the callused heels.
it was,      it was,      and more:
it was mine and I belonged. Montréal.
such rhythms and linguistic friction,
from the Natashquan tradition to the bard of Portugal Park.

from here I can spit nearly far enough to reach The Main.

but the dead block the off-ramp, winter
piles a shoulder against the door.
and we drift…
still, as brave boys in oversized boots floated to war,
we carry on.

 

……………………I recall thick oils with which
everything was painted
……………………………………….and barely choke down
my whiskey and gouache:
………………………………………….cloud of a man

looking for mooring
………………………………..and a familiar landmark.

 

Author’s Bio

Noah Zacharin is a Montreal-born writer and musician. Before finding himself in Toronto, where, for some reason he ceased sending out his work, he was a widely-published poet, translator, and critic. He never stopped loving words and is working to relearn the craft. Plans for 2020 include a new record and his first collection of poems.
www.noahsong.com