I watched her rise and fall over our sleepy little town. That dead rock in the sky, that shines over us all… Who knows the secrets here? Where? Where everyone pretends that nothing happens.

The warm salt waters of the Gulf Stream flow north from Mexico, along the eastern continental shelf, passed Cape Breton and beyond. Cold arctic air sweeps down over frozen tundra and bristles raised hairs on hunched backs, along Labrador and into the Northumberland Strait. Where these 2 meet is a spit of land that rises out of the Atlantic, just north of New York City, and is formerly known as New Scotland. It’s because of this; the north winds and the south currents that the conversations here are usually always about the weather…

To an outsider, it would appear as if nothing else goes on here but the weather. However, appearances are deceiving. Nothing is as it seems…

Reminds me of the old joke… A man from the city asks a fisherman, “What do you do around here for excitement.”

The fisherman smiles, ” In the summertime we fish and we fuck. In the winter, we don’t fish. “

The north coast of Nova Scotia is somewhere between the middle of nowhere and God’s country.

Somehow, I was still there when I was 18, and she’d been dead for 7 years. I would still look for her whenever I was in a crowd of people. Straining searching. Imagining that she had faked her death to get away from me. My mother. By the fall of 1977, I guess I figured she was really dead. All of this I kept to myself. Winding wrapped tight. In my tiny bedroom on a twin bed in a mobile trailer on an acre of land at the edge of Deception River is where the nightmare began…

I ripped out the window screen at the foot of the bed one night and the screen at the head of the bed the next. Screaming some nonsensical rage about “I’ll get you! You motherfuckers!” The next morning the fingernails were torn and bloodied from ripping out screens. Both windows smashed.

I could hear the breathing coming from something somewhere. I held my breath and lay still on my bed, making sure it wasn’t me. I looked under the bed and under the trailer. Nothing. I was alone… except for whatever was breathing. It felt like it was coming from inside me. I had never been so terrified. I forgot to pray. I forgot God.

After a few days and nights of this, I realized that I had to leave that bed, that bedroom,that trailer, that acre, that river.

I left and never returned…

I tried to be a humanist.

I just never found that grove.

All that whining at the get-go.

Had to bounce and bust a move.

I tried things less than spiritual.

More like carnal, some call lust.

Perhaps a search, a thing called love.

I just couldn’t find the trust.

All this searching has a fortune.

Maybe one that’s hard to see.

Down a path I wouldn’t recommend.

Some things you can’t unsee.

I’ve been listening to the masses.

They be trying to bring me down.

I’ve been taking master classes.

Ever since the blues dropped into town.

They are talking about oppression.

Like, it’s shiny and brand new.

So much horror in that lesson.

That ironic cake to chew.

They are raging, eyes are blurry.

Tears they fall like April rain.

Going nowhere in such a hurry.

Like they just discovered pain.

I’ve been looking for a chorus. That won’t break us into songs. Maybe something just to bore us. Take our rights back from the wrongs…

I remembered everything dramatic until I didn’t. I let that shit go, which is a monumental gift.

However, I  remember certain individuals from my childhood who, at the time, I thought were unreasonably cruel. Now I realize they were just human. Nothing more or less. So, to those people that I criticized on the eastcoast!,

“All Apologies!”

In the city downtown, people travel in the tube with their heads bowed; many are wearing headphones: hardly anyone makes eye contact.

I only come downtown for the necessities; passports and doctors. Today, both are on the menu.

Sidewalks are under construction. Bathrooms are closed for repairs. The melting pot has melted.

Getting past the receptionist is the unknown in a world of unknowns. I make it to the doctor who greets me warmly and agrees to sign my daughter’s passport.

They will call when it’s ready. No one has to tell me not to hold my breath. I stay quiet and think of more pedestrian times.

Dennis Mantin

I was attracted by her beauty.

Even read the things she wrote.

In her diary of private thoughts.

She said I wouldn’t get her vote.

I feel no guilt or shaming.

Even if somehow I got caught.

Don’t care about your feelings.

Because I know you can be bought.

There’s a quiver in the ether.

A faint hint of rich fresh air.

I will use this little breather.

Just to plan and scheme and stare.

You said you wanted feelings.

With a longing for deep truth.

You said you wanted Superman.

He’s on a cellphone by the booth.

He said he doesn’t like you.

He’s not into girls no more.

We are living in a brand new world.

And I’m by the exit door.

Too much fat is on my belly.

Walking slow, with joints some swell.

My story’s told, all show no telly.

All alone with shrugs… oh well.

The stress is gone. Not overwhelming.

Alzheimers cure, fresh storytelling.

Flashbacks pure, remember, yelling.

Not alone with shrugs… oh well.

I’m getting old. I’m bowed and ready.

My hand has fold. On trigger steady.

Eyes still true. My aims still deadly.

Happiness is a warm memory.

Les McElroy told me just before hanging up the phone, “Mind your own business!”

This is the best advice I have ever been given.

Later, the addendum was, “And get to know what your business is…”

Your circle can get small when you mind your own business. You stop trying to save the world. You become smaller to right sized.

I watch these justice warriors today and wonder whether they will ever be told or how long their careers will be, and then I remember…

It’s none of my business.

I was broke at the beginning.

In the middle was just bent.

On the horizon is the ending.

And the kid was heaven sent.

All tallied, I owe nothing.

There are demons at the door.

And I sleep with peace descending.

No regrets or want for more.