A new poem by Jennifer Boire

After the Festival (de la Poésie de Trois-Rivières)

Whitened cornhusks line the fields with gold,
light gleams over the rain-gloomed air
thick as clotted cream. Over the crimson
trees pumpkin-coloured hunter’s moon
shocks us into awe along the river road.

Sadly, we leave the clan of poets
the clamour for poems at mid-day meals,
les soupers de poésie imbibed
and smoke-filled bars,
under the word-hoarding Moon.

High, we rode home by the hay-filled
scarecrows, who guard the poetry-empty fields,
& frighten the terrible raptors.
Hang our hopes on the moon
to haul poetry back into the world.