by Lawrence Hopperton
Five years old with our shirts off running through cornfields, calling and coming across the rows until someone was lifted up to see the house, way over there. That way. He was the young one. He couldn’t keep up with a pot on his head playing G.I. Joe and the dog on a run line in this afternoon sun in Jalna. But we brought him fishing with us the creek wasn’t too far down the dirt road. We had garden worms and hooks and laughing around the riverbanks but we didn’t catch any fish. Remember me it’s only maybe 50 years? “Not until I looked in your eyes. You came to see us ride horses, not far from the schoolhouse You were bored. You wanted to ride.” My parents let me drive the station wagon but only in the trailer park; only on the tracks. They didn’t know where they all went but I did. We went for a drive, parked and smoked like grown-ups. At the end, the priest told a story: See the lake through the trees? It flows to Georgian Bay and Ptolley Bay then Superior down the lakeslide and St. Lawrence to the seas. Paul is part of this promise In good company with Leacock, de la Roche a bit of innocence in this sunshine sketch and I kissed them - kissed them for real. I never did that before.
Lawrence Hopperton lives in Stouffville Ontario. His chapbook, Ptolley Bay, was published by Lyrical Myrical Press in 2013, and his first full collection, Table for Three, was published by En Route Books and Media in 2021. His next collection, Such Common Stories, will appear in late 2022.