I am formed from between two rivers,
lineage runs deep, blue cascades
and white water Fraser,
tumbling up and out and over long and languid prairies
to the St. Lawrence shipways;
mouth agape to the open ocean.
My hands threw a net
and caught the eastern islands,
wrought iron from ancient Viking homesteads
driven deep into a pre-Columbian psyche
like a million rail spikes
suturing the land together,
leaving a scar
that traces a grotesque beauty
across the face of an ancient lover.
I knew long ago that I was frozen arctic tundra
and long, cold nights that stretched on endless.
Celestial genius eyes
paint my thoughts
in rolling colors,
that whisper secret messages
on the whistling wind.
I knew that I was an eagle’s cry across the Hecate Straight;
Turbulent, grey seas and rocky shorelines
that smash waves against the cedars
and topple once noble and majestic bloodlines;
for I am long history
and history has a method.
Call me young,
but my bones run deep;
far deeper than most DNA will remember.
I am tortured forests borne of ancient sea floors
and oil soaked sand encased in boreal solitude.
I am a billion years of rot and death and decay
that has made a fertile lover for the Sun
and the wind
and the rain.
I am wholesome harvests
that drive the needs of men
whose cravings for singular exotic flavors,
sought the farthest reaches of the world.
I am bright lights
and big cities
and pitch black mountain madness;
my reaches harbor insanities
that could never be nurtured
in the lands of long dead kings
and blood soaked empires.
Here I am;
and endless fresh water mirrors.
I am here;
The world knows me;
but they know me not,
for my secrets
shall never be exposed.
I am the young mystery.
I am the hope of all things.
I am Kanata by name;
Canada by birth,
But I am known by other,
more ancient names
long forgotten by the world.
HG – 2017