Rhonda Mullins
traduction du poème de Patrice Desbiens.)

I remember a station wagon cutting through the night
opening up the northern night like a hunting knife
opens its prey
We are all there
my mother my sister her husband and her children all
in the car it's
Johnny B. Good Leblanc at the wheel his face dimly
lit by the glow of the dashboard
I am the only passenger who is not asleep while
we roll along with an ocean of aching green on
either side
My sister sleeps in the front seat
the darkness flows in and out of her open mouth
The night is long and without fold
The night is long and without fold
The night is long and without fold
The night is long and without Suddenly
something rips through the fabric of the night something moves
out there and
the windshield turns into a Cinemascope screen the searchlights
of Twentieth Century Fox and Gulf Western illuminating
the animal the animal the moose in the middle of the road
who freezes and
stares at the destiny barreling toward it at 60 miles an hour
Its eyes its eyes its eyes Oh Lord its gaze until
the last minute and the deaf-mute shock of steel on
flesh
And my sister waking up screaming a loud scream
frenzied and
final as if the soul of the moose had passed through
her as
it died and finally
the silence
the silence of our silence in
the silence between
Timmins and Toronto.

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