Marie-Andree Auclair

Noah’s Cottage I soft-paddle the canoeon the new lakewhere the lawn used to grow.I see the river flowgrey and patientthen the cottagemoving awayour cottageadriftwith our family memoriesattached to its walls, tucked on shelvesnestled in the sofa we dreamt onafter we played the underwater garden. I sit quietly in the canoewatch the cottagesquare bargeabsorbed by the

Resilience My grandfather’s fierce handshe wiggles fingerstendons and veins glideacross the back of his handsreturn to their place.I press a vein by his wristtrace path to knuckleempty blue vein of bloodwhich finds its way backafter I lift my finger. My grandfather’s thumb padsI press my small one on hiswatch my imprint turn whiteflat depressionplumps up