An Iceberg Lived
In Twillingate I rented a house on the North Side with threefold dormer windows watching over a picket fence cradled lilac tree In spring the upstairs bedroom felt like a ship at sea floorboards sloped to the east window where, in the harbour, an iceberg lived In winter the ocean current corralled a herd of jagged ice pans and the house walls, undefended, allowed the north wind Cold swept up the staircase snow grains lashed the windowpanes and the old house, glacial, became a tomb Timbers shuddered day and night, and wretched I left my coat on went to bed after supper In summer I moved house abandoned the vagrant dust wisps plugged kitchen sink, and ajar garden gate But I dreamed of islands and icebergs parlour doors that opened to sea water, and Years later I returned to find the threefold dormer windows boarded fence broken tree wilted, the house diminished withered more alive shining in my dreams Joan MacIntosh Joan lives in St. John's, Newfoundland and writes poetry, fiction and essays, paints and journals. Her poetry has been previously published in TickleAce, Leafpress, Newfoundland Herald, and other publications. She finds that simple visual images find themselves in poetry and paintings and often discovers haiku through journal writing.
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April 2025
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