Searching for Indian Harbour
I Learn How Provincial Google Can be
Before I Strike Gold
I type in “Indian Harbour, CN”
but even with the “u” in there
I only get links to a yacht club
in Greenwich Connecticut,
where I learn that the dress code
requires jackets and collared shirts
for men in the main dining room,
hats, caps and visors must be removed
in the clubhouse, and bare feet, denim
and t-shirts are strictly forbidden
I try again with “Canada” spelled out
and learn that Indian Harbour
is part of the Nova Scotia
Alden Nowlan wrote about
and that we have a history.
Wikipedia say the roads
were dirt and kept up by locals
till 1955; power didn’t come in
until 1945. Years ago,
on our first long road trip
north, we swam there
near Peggy’s Cove,
ate sharp white cheddar
sliced from a huge round,
and stayed in a motel cabin
with an oil burning stove.
The quilt that still hangs
in our bedroom came from
a neighbourhood church sale.
We were young and in love
and had to think about it
a long time. A hundred bucks
was a lot of money
in those days.
This poem was written for the Surprise Challenge, ekphrastic poetry about Canadian paintings.
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