There were thousands of tiny seashells
in the sand that glistened
like chips of porcelain. That was the home
of the brown pelican, of the egret
who takes minutes to decide a single step,
and of the grinning alligator, submerged,
mistaken for a log.

The sun there thinned my blood,
made me motionless.
Its light was diffuse, generous,
almost the opposite of the hard, focussed
glare of our northern sky. And I thought
of my countrymen
two thousand kilometres north,

testing the icy pavements,
dreading the vast distances,
gathering nerve to counter the cutting winds.
To feel at home I had to imagine a point
beyond the parasols and beach chairs
where there'd be no sound but the droning waves
and no one to read my footprints.

Kenneth Sherman



Kenneth Sherman has published several books of poetry, including the highly acclaimed WORDS FOR ELEPHANT MAN (1983), JACKSON'S POINT(1989), and CLUSTERS(1997). In 1998, he published a collection of essays entitled VOID AND VOICE. He teaches English at Sheridan College, Ontario.