the orchard

Just north of Tisdale on the way to Nipawin
there is a property I visit.
I found it while running along the 35
(and training for nothing but the enjoyment
of fresh air and tolerance of my limitations.)
I call the property the orchard;
rows upon rows of items growing cobwebs,
collecting leaves and grain dust.
Broken and discarded articles
have been brought there to reside:
coffee makers, refrigerators,
cross country skis, cowboy boots, toys,
pots, pans and suitcases.
It is everything you ever sent to
the church rummage sale, to the dump,
and to your second cousin’s child
who is leaving home after high school.
To see it is to remember where you’ve been
and who you are.
(A Pogo Ball? We had one of those.)
I’ve longed to jump the fence and stroll
through the orchard;
to walk this curated assembly
of unwanted things made into a curiosity,
and united by the simple virtue
of being unwanted.
An unintentional political act
made beautiful by intention.
By my attention.
Held together in sculpture by nails and wire,
vision and tenacity.

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