D. A. Lockhart
A Natural Violence

The jack pine mangled Tom Thomson
and returned to rest
atop the granite of shield
as waterline was broken
by flesh puffed canvas.
The lake rings out in aftershocks,
crests of cold flesh
hitting the empty shell of wood.
The canoe top heavy
with oil paints, canvas, fishing line.
The pine seesaws.
Winds descending from James Bay,
jolt scraggeled limbs.
A half rendered pine
rests atop a board
tinted with oils.
The pine groans.
The wind relents.
The oily smears
shadowing the pine
remain firm
despite the waves.
And the pine lunges
at high summer clouds
as the wind mounts again,
slamming a rigoured artist
into the side
of a red canoe.

<< return to the Table of Contents for New Series #4: Winter 2012, Volume 2 Number 2