Lysette Brochu
traduction du poème de Patrice Desbiens.)

I remember a station wagon cutting through the night
opening the northern night like a hunting knife
opens its prey
We are all there
my mother my sister her husband and her children all of us
in that car and
Johnny B. Good Leblanc is driving with his face vaguely
lit up by the gleam of the dashboard
I am the only passenger not sleeping whilst
we continue with an ocean of bruised green on
each side
My sister sleeps on the front seat
darkness in and out of her open mouth
The night is long and creaseless
The night is long and creaseless
The night is long and creaseless
The night is long and without Suddenly
something rips the fabric of the night something moves
over there and
the windshield becomes a giant cinemascope screen The headlights
Twentieth Century Fox and Gulf Western spotlighting
the animal the animal the elk right in the middle of the road
frozen and
contemplating his fate travelling towards him at 60 miles per hour
His eyes his eyes his eyes oh god his gaze until
the last minute and the deaf and mute shock of iron against
flesh
And my sister awakening screaming a loud scream
mad and
final as if the elk's soul had passed through
her while
dying and at last
silence
the silence of our silence in
the silence between
Timmins and Toronto.

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