(no subject)

(It's still the sixth of January, 2008, in some places, aye? Ten years ago, then, I woke up and the world had sort of ended. It wasn't the worst disaster ever, by any means - homes didn't vanish, the death toll was very low. But there was a huge impact on the environment, and I still keep candles; and it's the tenth anniversary of the time I started to get along with my little sister. I always loved her, but we fought a lot less after the ice storm. Being stuck in a room together for weeks will do that. If you were watching the news ten years ago, you probably heard about "The Dark Triangle" in southern Quebec - my town was at its geographical centre. "Last time this happened," said Jean-Yves-across-the-street, "we were without power for three whole days!" ... yeah. Three weeks. And it was minus-thirty-five out. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/North_American_ice_storm_of_1998)

The world didn't end,
it stopped. Gone was the hum
of the lights, of the television,
gone the sound of cars.
I thought I heard gunshots.
and laid awake in my cocoon
of quilts on the floor, afraid.

Nobody came with guns -
later, I learned it was the trees dying.
The ice was full of splinters.

As a child, I imagined the high-voltage towers
as huge men, marching in step
across the cornfields.
My metal giants turned
into steel origami,
all my defeated frozen soldiers,
my birches prostrated themselves.

My mother burnt her pots black in the fireplace -
it hasn't been used since -
and kept a tealight on the toilet.
It was like a small dark church,
with one lonely votive,
and it was cold but it was quiet.

It was Ragnarok and Fimbulwinter all at once,
and it was terribly beautiful
amd beautifully terrible.

The birch tree died this summer.