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Post by louisa on Oct 13, 2008 5:11:35 GMT 2
Marilyn Bowering When the Men are Gone to Sea
we do the garden. We cut the hay, spread it to dry, and rake it into a pook.
We have the garden, and the hens and the haying.
I sit at night by the open door and tear up rags. Blue for my eyes (and his!), brown for my hair, red, yellow, green, orange, the colours of the hills.
You never see a man up here in summer: they’re all gone down to Labrador.
If you see one you wonder, knit stockings for winter
(blue, brown). The above poem from Human Bodies, Beach Holme, 1999.
also found at www.parl.gc.ca/information/about/people/poet/poem-of-the-week/poems-e.htm?param=42
Other sites of interest:
www.marilynbowering.com/
www.brocku.ca/canadianwomenpoets/Bowering.htm
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