Tadoussac

Tadoussac

Celia Farrow

I came to lose my scurf amongst the sand
dollars. The scene dressed me down. Sapful, firm
despite my extra pounds, along the strand
I scampered. Over powdered placoderm
and rocks worn smooth by frigid tides I drew, 
and felt it tight within my breast, the landbone.
The headland tones of fawn and pine broke through
me, flowered there like cautious iris blown
between these shelves, reminding sky and sea
they too began as formless wisps. The wind
came off that half-known blue, and I was free
to seek completion. Doubts deferred. Abscind
the end (the pain that leaving here inflicts),
or trust my trembling flesh becomes a pyx.

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Celia Farrow
Poet

Celia is an English Literature graduate from Montreal, Canada. She can’t escape George Herbert, Thomas Hardy, and P. K. Page. This is her first publication.

Photography by Marie-Michèle Bouchard