SUMMER CLOUDS.............
Bruce Ross, US

Research in the public records and the stories I heard as a child bring me to this run-down street in a run-down Cape Breton town. I sit on a bench beside the small river he had walked down on ice chunks, "clunkers," to the ocean bay to cut hide from a frozen whale for a homemade belt. I look back to the bluff where the house had stood.

the very hill
my father played upon
summer clouds
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

return to top of page