Nanaimo, British Columbia


skinny young men
grouped around the car’s raised hood
spring’s here

such faint fragrance
in this unknown wildflower
I should not have picked

spring cleaning-
dolls my daughter left
have slept twenty years

in the pocket
of his woodshed coveralls
a nest of deer mice

Canada Day
a maple leaf
floats downstream

summer’s cold
the fireplace brightly burns
next winter’s woodpile

beneath water
these stones
seem to be breathing

young bald eagles-
without white crowns

snatched from the undertow
cries for her hat

a fine September
even yellow jackets drunk
on late blackberries

moss-hung trees
a deer moves into
the hunter’s silence

old graveyard
a student doing rubbings
wild geese cry

moonlit children
scatter among the headstones
playing frozen tag

in the toy department
cuddles dolls

the crippled crow
hops on the icy edge
of the compost box

snowflakes fill
the eye of the eagle
fallen totem pole

driving at night
headlights part the darkness
not the falling snow

Winona Baker: wrote 6 poetry books; won haiku and tanka international awards; is in 90+ anthologies in N America, Europe, New Zealand and Japan; work translated into Japanese, Croatian, French, Greek, Yugoslavian and Romanian; latest book THE SLOUGH; currently working on a ms of Japanese forms of poety


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