We were at the lake’s edge, nothing for fifty miles.
September and the first freeze glinting between wet stones,
a death crackle in the still green leaves.
Sudden sun, we launched the canoe, headed west.

September and the first freeze glinting between wet stones.
You said the spirit took our June memory, turned it into today,
sudden sun. We launched the canoe, headed west,
boomeranging back to the first time we met.

You said the spirit took our June memory, turned it into today.
Your mouth teaching me those blunt Chipewyan vowels,
boomeranging back to the first time we met.
I try not to count the days.

Your mouth teaching me those blunt Chipewyan vowels,
us picking cranberries, no sugar to make jam.
I try not to count the days,
watch the wooden pier ice over.

Us picking cranberries, no sugar to make jam,
a death crackle in the still green leaves.
Watch the wooden pier ice over.
We were at the lake’s edge, nothing for fifty miles.

This was the winning entry in a competition for poetry on the theme of ‘Indian Summer’, held by Inpress Books on the occasion of their tenth anniversary, and judged by Steven O’Brien, editor of The London Magazine. The prizes were awarded at a ‘Poetry Garden Market’ at Foyle’s Bookshop, Southbank Centre, London, on 15 September 2012.