One Poem by James Hvezda

Canoe Trip

pile out of the minivan
shoes scraping on gravel
the zip of excited mosquitoes
mist on the river
and the grip of the morning air

planted on the floor of the canoe
feet jutting out
back leaning on the middle rung
drifting with the dip and trickle of the paddles
studying the river rocks listless in their underwater tomb
the sun streaming into their green and yellow world
the water up against the canoe
an opaque ripple
arguing along the gunnels and discharged in our wake

look to the side
see the roots probing the air above the water
a slow decent
thick bush
proud white birch and aspen
the collapsing river banks and tilting trees
leaning in to listen


watching my father’s eyes in the stern
reading the brow
scanning the eddies and tongues
little fist in my chest

anything could make me jump


James Hvezda lives in Hamilton, Canada. He enjoys spending time in and writing about nature.

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