Angela Kublik

The Calgary Herald has included an excerpt of one of my poems, “Driving North on Highway 43,” in issue three, “The North: Charging Ahead,” of its Discovering Alberta magazine series. One of the special features on the website is a podcast of me reading the complete poem.

Driving North on Highway 43

1. the first time, from Barrhead

I moved
to Grande Prairie
and suddenly
home an hour north
of Edmonton
became south
and this highway
the umbilical cord
straining
to pull me back
to the land
that birthed me

2. and many times after that

I find myself
on this road
driving south to north
and north to south

to pass the time
I count the creeks
that weave their way
through trees
under the highway
before disappearing
into the bush again
and I wonder who
gave my favourite,
the tiny Chickadee,
its name

eventually
this highway and I
become uneasy friends
as I learn to forgive
the slights of
oil patch trucks
racing to work
and the sight of
road-kill decomposing
on the shoulder

instead
I look for beauty:
the valley at Bezanson
glorious in autumn
before the big wind
sweeps away the splendor;
a great horned owl
perched on a sign
Fox Creek 46 km;
brush piles
burning at dusk
remind me of
medieval funeral pyres

mostly
I drive
straight through

but once
I stopped at Kleskun Hills
climbed to the plateau
spent an hour
lying in tall grass
watching sky change
pretending
not to notice
those first
drops

3. close call

driving through
the reserve
in a blizzard
blinded
by whiteout

just over a rise
snow shifts
reveals an oncoming semi
passing another semi
despite double solid lines
hidden under the snow

so I drive
on the wide shoulder
knuckles white
the trucks
roar past

as I pull
back into my lane
the shape of a man
appears

a dark shadow
in the beam of the headlights
walking through the blizzard
just before the sign
to watch
for pedestrians

4. seasons

driving north
on highway 43
I witness
the seasons
each with its
own particular colour:
the new green of spring,
summer’s azure sky,
burnt orange,
ice white

with each colour
I become
more
part of this
northern place
until
home
is at both ends
of the highway