Boreas
With sharpened fangs and
grasping talons
they depict Boreas,
though its benevolence
runs smoothly through your veins
as my hand under a satin blouse
follows the contour of your nipple
and the Boreas sings
for us two hiding
in the terrace loveseat
secluded from
the conspiring eyes
of the neighbour
and you said,
I enjoy the wind’s caress on my legs
as I do your fingers on my nipple
excerpt
The day before the exhibit, he helped hang the paintings;
only one in each room of the gallery. Opening night resembled a Hollywood
premier. People gathered in the street and, when a chauffeur
driven limousine drew up to the curb, the media descended. Ken parted
the crowd and opened the door, guiding the Duchess into the gallery. The
crowd inside fell back as though God himself had made an entrance.
Ken led her through the rooms, telling the stories of the Canadian
North. She nodded, smiled, listened attentively, and left as quickly as she
had come. Forty-five minutes later every painting wore a sold sticker.
Ken extended his stay, in order to accept all the invitations he was besieged
with. He had been in Madrid for six weeks, when his father called.
“You must come home right away.”
“What happened?”
“Just, come home immediately. It looks like the trust company has
gone under.”
He flew home the next day and took a cab directly to his father’s apartment,
where he found him more agitated than Ken had ever known him
to be. “This is real trouble,” he said. “We tried to get into the office and it’s
locked – the locks have been changed and nobody is there.”
In his own office, he discovered several key files missing. He arranged
a meeting with other clients of the trust company. There were rumours.
Some said the company principal had moved to the Fraser Valley, where
he had set up an Arabian horse farm and purchased a Rolls-Royce. Others
said he had simply vanished without a trace.
Ken called the RCMP commercial crime division and drove to the station
with his father. The officer explained that the department was aware
of the issue. “It’s a complicated mess,” he said. “We’re going to have to
investigate you and your activities, the same as everyone else.”
The police found many of the missing files but not a trace of the company
president and CEO. Rumours continued to circulate. One claimed
that the head of the trust company had had nothing to do with the missing
funds. It was Ken Kirkby. He was crazy, and smart, and out of the
country when disaster struck. He was the one who had masterminded the
plot. The media ran with it and reporters parked their cars and vans in
front of his house waiting for one glimpse – to take just one picture with a
telephoto lens. Two professional hockey players, convinced that Ken had
taken their money, filed a lawsuit. The judge threw it out of court. Ken
threw himself into the investigation, working with the police day after
day to piece together what had happened.
The RCMP interviewed the victims of the fraud and examined the
documents. Sorting through his own papers became a full time job, and
there were many times he gave up all hope of making sense of them.
His greater despair was the loss of his friends.
excerpt
Fixing Fence
The Circle H Ranch
Willow Springs, Montana
It was the first time that Joel rode the sorrel gelding into the
hills on its own. He had saddled up the sorrel, and instead of
leading it to the corral, Joel had sensed that both of them would
benefit from a ride in the hills.
Over the last little while, all of the horses had spent some time
in the hills, escorted by another horse and rider. Most of the
horses only needed the escort’s company a couple of times before
they were ready to explore on their own. For some reason, the
sorrel gelding was slower to settle down than some of the others;
and today would be the first time solo, just him and the rider, in
the hills.
The sorrel had seemed pretty steady to Joe. Maybe a little hesitant
to start, but after some time and some miles in the hills, the
gelding was either getting tired or had settled down. Joel wasn’t
sure which one it was, but he was enjoying the smoother ride.
The sorrel spooked a little when he had first saw them before
Joel, but as soon as Joel felt the shiver run through the horse and
up into the saddle, he knew something was up. “Probably a deer,”
he thought. But no. There were three heifers on Joel’s side of the
fence that were obviously part of the herd of several hundred on
the other side of the fence. No wonder these three wanted to
escape onto his pasture. The contrast between the lush prairie
grasslands in Joel’s pasture and the barren patch of dirt on Buck
Smith’s side of the fence was something to see.
Manolis Aligizakis 