Solstice

Etobicoke, Ontario, 1871

By morning, the drifts on Kipling Avenue        touch each house's transom:                frosted, fogbound, the women's breath        clouds on the single-paned windows.Outside, their sons stand in white knolls

bare hands gripping iced cliffs as they climb.        The horses' hooves chop & churn                the snowfall into grey, every sharp        oval step a weight; their fetlocks wet& clustered with frost. Down the laneway,

the brewer's gelding flickers his black mane,        the silver of his bridle chiming, each                gaping nostril a portent of steam.        Here, he cannot walk or canter, he pullsat the post-tied lengths of his reins. The boys

gather taller than the Percheron's back, shadows        making his sable & sinew all the darker.                Even the calmest of beasts can recognize        a cage; even winter can form its own walls.One boy mimics a nicker & chuff. The horse echoes his call.