Mark Stout
traduction du poème de Patrice Desbiens.)

I remember a station wagon cutting through the night
slicing open the belly of the northern night like a hunting knife slicing open its kill
We were all there
my mom my sister her husband the kids all of us
in that car it was
Johnny B. Good Leblanc driving his face lit faintly
by the glow of the dashboard lights
I was the only passenger not asleep as we
drove on through green ocean on either side beaten black and blue by the night
My sister slept on the front bench seat
wisps of darkness moving in and out of her open mouth
The night is long and satiny
The night is long and satiny
The night is long and satiny
The night is long and sat Suddenly
something rips through the fabric something moves just
there and
the windshield becomes a screen in cinemascope the lights
of Twentieth Century Fox and Gulf Western glaring on
the animal the animal a moose right in the middle of the road
scared stiff and
staring at his destiny rushing down on him at 60 miles an hour
His eyes his eyes his eyes oh god that look in his eyes right up until
the very last minute and the dull thud of steel against flesh
And my sister then wakes up howling a great cry
wild and
final as if the soul of the stricken moose had passed into
her in
dying and at last
just silence
the silence of our silence in
the silence between
Timmins and Toronto
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