Did it snow that night?
I’m not sure anymore
I can’t remember
In my head it was snowing.
And it will snow forever on December 6.
The white
of the snow
the black
of a December night
the red
of the gyroscopes.
Snow forever.
In the middle of nowhere
all year around
and the snow buries alive
the screaming bodies.
Slow death live
the snow kills me
because the snow is real
each snowflake vanishes in the immensity of the earth
a traceless trace.
*Le 6 décembre 1989. Neige.
Nadeau, Chantal. Les trouées. Montréal : Hamac, QC. Septentrion. 2020.
Trans. by C. Nadeau.
Did it snow that night?
I’m not sure anymore
I can’t remember
In my head it was snowing.
And it will snow forever on December 6.
The white
of the snow
the black
of a December night
the red
of the gyroscopes.
Snow forever.
In the middle of nowhere
all year around
and the snow buries alive
the screaming bodies.
Slow death live
the snow kills me
because the snow is real
each snowflake vanishes in the immensity of the earth
a traceless trace.
*Le 6 décembre 1989. Neige.
Nadeau, Chantal. Les trouées. Montréal : Hamac, QC. Septentrion. 2020.
Trans. by C. Nadeau.
