Coming Back to Die

Coming Back to Die so like I said I came back here to die twenty-two years on the Atlantic coast Nova Scotia and Newfoundland bright beautiful beaches of fine diamond dust snow-bound winters around the wood stove isolation sometimes fog late summer the sound lonely and plaintive the lighthouses passing ships wind more than a physical force shrieking moaning around the chimney the windows wanting to get in so bad a windy ghoul from old black & white to technicolour skies of British Columbia social justice – human rights Stop the War – Vietnam then Mounties in the Carnegie lane taking down heroin users six month’s possession many died inside. Now I question my decision, but does it really matter anyway. Wilhelmina