An Iceberg Lived by Joan MacIntosh

House on the North Side by Joan MacIntosh

                                                             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.