Dear Reader,
This week’s submission is a selection from Open Mic Night(s) at The Russell and District Regional Library. Open Mic Night will be back by popular demand in September.
A Poem from Canadian Geese by Adalyn Johnson
It’s always best to stick together,
We can fly through any weather.
Being up front is hard work, but the job is always shared.
The flock honks to encourage the goose in front with care.
Flying in our V-shaped formation we get much further.
Those who don’t are weighed down by the wind on every feather.
Doing this we get through any weather,
This is why we stick together.
The Gardener by Isabel Johnson
The old man lay in the narrow bed pushed up against the living room window. He had survived the massive stroke, but the doctor warned his family, when they insisted on taking him home, that he would never walk or talk again. He would lie in bed until another stroke came to claim him.
They fed him gruel for breakfast, and soup for lunch and supper. They sat by his bed and held his hand as he stared out the window. They read to him even as he shut his eyes and tears made streams to his pillow. They got a wheelchair and gently lifted him into it, but he became agitated and angry, his good hand pointing to the window, his voice breaking out in small animal like cries.
He had been home for a week when a younger man appeared at his bedside. He was not so young anymore, he had worked for the old man for 15 years now, but he was fit and strong. He stood by the bed, shocked at the change. The flesh had fled from the old face, the eyes were sunken and cloudy. At first, he thought the old man was blind.
“Hello,” he said as he reached down and touched the good hand.
The old man twitched, his eyes focused, and he cried out pointing to the window. His wife came to stand beside the frightened visitor.
“It’s all right,” she said. “He wants to go outside. We can’t take him because we can’t lift his wheelchair down the steps, but with your help…”
“Of course.” He was relieved to have something to do.
They set the wheelchair at the foot of the steps. The younger man lifted the old man as he would a child. He felt the ribs with no flesh pinch against his side. He carried him outside setting him in the chair and she fastened a strap around the thin chest.
“I’ll take him to his garden. His crocuses are blooming.”
“Thank you,” she said as she turned to go back to the house.
The chair bumped along the rough trail. The younger man didn’t know how to talk to someone who couldn’t talk back so the two made their way in silence.
When the chair stopped at the garden edge, the old man cried out and pointed down the row.
“I can’t. It’s too soft.” The cries continued and now the old man was throwing his body against the strap.
“Oh, No! You’re not getting out of this chair. You can’t even sit up by yourself. What do you think you’re going to do, crawl around?”
The old man was nodding his head, his face twisted into a lopsided grin.
“You want to crawl around?” the head kept nodding. “Oh, what the hell, I guess it can’t hurt.”
He untied the strap and lifted the old man, kneeling to support him in a sitting position beside the small purple and yellow flowers. The old man twisted with unexpected strength throwing his body down against the soft earth. Slowly, using only his good arm, he inched along the ground until he could touch the delicate blooms. He stroked the furry petals, then lay his head down against the earth, soaking up the smell and the feel of it. When he lifted his head to look at the young man his eyes were the brightest blue. He grunted his thanks, then continued to drag his wasted body along the row, his touch greeting each tiny spring plant.
Springtime Slush and Sunsets by Open Mic Night, April 26, Attendees
First Day of spring driving down main street in Russell, past the Library, and SPLASH! My beautiful car was covered in slush.
My windshield was obscured. Quickly turned on my wipers and hit the brakes, but not fast enough. I hit the black sedan in front of me. As the crud cleared from my windshield, I saw the car trunk pop open. I blinked at what I saw. I could not believe what popped out: two dogs. A “dog-napper,” I cried? I must call.
The dogs wagged their tails and joyfully barked. Then a little grey kitten came running out.
“Who do I call,” I wondered? “The RCMP? Let me try the SPCA. They could find a home for the animals.”
I think I saw those dogs a week or so ago, walking down the highway behind a woman pulling a wagon.
Coming down the road was a blue half-ton with the window wide open, a woman calling the dogs by name. Both dogs stopped, perked up their ears and bound toward the truck, happy that their person found them.
Oh! the joy that floods the human soul when the full body wiggle and squirm of dog, man’s best friend, is home again. Wet with spring slush, the dogs and their person veritably frolicked together momentarily. Then, all in the truck again, they headed home in the warm glow of a Manitoba sunset.
Please visit us at Russell Library, 339 Main Street North in Russell; Binscarth Library, 106 Russell Street in Binscarth; on our website https://russellbinscarthlibrary.ca;
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Telephone: (204)773-3127
Happy Reading, Until Next Time,
The Library Ladies