(for Gerry Crinnin)
By Jason Irwin
Once inside you could be anywhere:
North Ungava, the South Pole,
or orbiting Saturn’s equatorial zone.
Dark and votive,
books and icons line the walls:
Lorca, W.C. Fields, Shakespeare –
their names are exotic fruits
exploding on our tongues.
The Victrola-like crackle
of Canadian radio,
and the sweet aromas of wood smoke,
cigarettes, beer, infuse the air.
Tangled tales of local lore,
spill from our lips|
as winter’s weight presses down.
JASON IRWIN grew up in Dunkirk and now lives in Pittsburgh. “Watering the Dead,” his first full-length collection, won the 2006/2007 Transcontinental Poetry Prize, and was published in 2008 by Pavement Saw Press. “Some Days It’s A Love Story,” a collection of his earlier work, won the 2005 Slipstream Press Chapbook Prize.