Here it is, almost the end of October, 2012
And already the first snowflakes have begun to fall.
Should I note for the record, before I delve
Into the meat of this poem and tell all,
That it was in 2008, shortly after the Vale Earth Fair
I was sent scurrying back to this land of exile,
Racing sedately through the stratosphere
Crossing oceans and continents the while?
I cannot but ask as I enter Year Five,
""Has it really been four long years since I left?""
During those latter three years in Guernsey, I felt so alive
Despite the anguish of a teaching job bereft
Of any sense of accomplishment or worth.
They say, ""Home is where the heart is.""
But my heart has almost never been in the land of my birth
Despite the intense love I feel for all of This.
We are truly a social species with a deep need to belong;
In Canada, I really do love all of This: these wild places
Where, with a single moment's lapse, it can all go wrong
And the Rescuers are looking for your remaining traces.
Even here in this town carved from the Forest Primeval,
They probably think I'm more than a little crazy,
Wandering alone with only a bear bell to protect me from evil –
But I'm so used to bears; their nearness no longer phases me
As I hunt for mushrooms, seeking out the Chanterelle
Black in a mass, Golden ones like up-turned bells,
I enjoy every sound, every sight, every smell –
The faint spicey incense permeating every dell
Of new fallen leaves and needles on the deep moss –
But then the snow comes and it's twelve feet deep;
The forests are hidden til May, and I feel their loss
More than I can say, as all of Nature sleeps.
Perhaps my long exile might be easier to bare
If I had a social life, friends with whom I might feel less lonely,
Night after night, through the long dark Winter I stare
At the walls of my living room. To keep me amused, there are only
Persian carpets and tapestries and my collection of old books
And the music on my computer to keep me company.
I have become so familiar with every cranny and nook
That I find myself longing for some BC Bud to set me free.
One more School Year, that's all I need,
One more year of scrimping and saving and getting by,
One more year of monthly anxiety – Will I have to bleed
My Savings Account because my Chequing has run dry?
Every half month, will I get enough work days
To carry me through the next and the one to come?
Once I've got the rent covered and the bills paid,
I can anticipate putting money by and saving some.
I'm not just saving for a rainy day
In this isolated town, where, if it isn't raining it's snowing;
There's more than madness to my method of making hay
Even if I no longer know where this poem is going.
In Guernsey, for the first time since I can remember,
I truly felt I was part of a community,
Someone who belonged even in the bleakest December:
Guernsey, where once again, I can be part of Humanity.
Andrew Barham
