i recall that it was raining
and we were all so young
in a strange place, so foreign
yet so familiar;

there we were in the night
sneaking out, children in a playground
bound for endless glory
drunk with youth and ignorance;

the eyes of the street artist
look so familiar, somebody
from my previous visits
somebody from my childhood;

i never grew up here, paid
only a handful of visits
yet certain faces, certain buildings
conjure up images
obscuring my perception, the
reality i had constructed
recalling stories of the grandfather
i never met, and his forays into
montreal for the communist meetings
in the 1950's;

a beggar asked me for money
in both french and english
as i walked down sherbrooke, noticing
how much his eyes
looked like mine.

 

 

John Bourne is a Canadian writer from Holland Landing, Ontario. He has had prose and poetry published in various journals including Labour of Love,  The Nepenthe Journal, Deeply Shallow and Progress. He has traveled extensively in North America, Europe, Africa and Asia, and spent some time writing political articles for The Korea Times. These poems are excerpted from his recent chapbook, A Season Far Removed. He welcomes feedback at bourneshin@hotmail.com.

Have comments you'd like to send the author? Please e-mail John at: bourneshin@hotmail.com or fill out the form below: