Poetry by Andre Peltier

---

^{_{Gaspé Peninsula}} 

            “Dans les grandes cites, dans les bois, sur les grêves,

            Ton image flottera dans mes rêves,

                        O mon Canada, bien aimé.”

—Louis Honoré Fréchette

---

Roadside ovens 

with warm, crusty baguette. 

Wine for the adults, 

grape juice for the children. 

Open expanse, 

from Chic-Choc highlands 

of caribou and Jacques-Cartier, 

to rolling grasses.

Over to those steep cliffs 

before falling to

The Gulf and Newfoundland, 

to Cardiff and Cork. 

Wading to Rocher Percé 

before the tide came in. 

Like a beacon, 

the phantom rock floats 

on the waves warning 

freighters of rough waters ahead. 

We heed the signal, 

rolling up our jeans 

before climbing, 

falling, splashing 

back to humanity,

back to the mainland. 

And the highway hugs 

the coastline between 

limestone wall 

and expansive deep. 

There, out the window, 

you could reach and rub  

the sounding humpbacks. 

Laughing in the waves, 

they too splashed back 

to safety before their 

great migration 

to tropical 

playgrounds.

---

---

^{_{Wind Me Up}}

There’s a jar in the kitchen 

holding our keys, 

old, forgotten ones 

side by side with the ones 

we use every day. 

A key from an old job; 

it’s been years, 

but it remains, a totem 

of remembrance. 

The key to the liquor cabinet: 

vodka, rum, gin, vermouth, 

a couple bottles of Scotch. 

They gather dust, forgotten 

but for a holiday party 

or a family game night. 

There’s a key to 

my great-grandmother’s 

mantel clock. 

I’ve never wound it; 

I keep it just in case. 

Then there is the key 

that fits the hole in 

my back. 

Wind me up

and watch me waddle. 

Wind me up, and I go 

to the supermarket, the deli, 

Starbucks or Target. 

Wind me up and I 

cook and clean,

cook and clean. 

As I wind down slowly 

in the evening, 

as I wind down after another day 

of errands and naps, 

I wonder who will insert 

that key tomorrow

and wind me up 

again.

---