Memories Make the Best Poetry

I’ve been writing a lot lately, much freer and more often than I used to. In fact, I have so many pieces ready to share, I’m going to begin grouping multiple poems in one post. Thankfully, lots of them share common themes!

I believe I’ve mentioned before that I’m Canadian, that I love Canada and everything aboot it, that I’m going to live there someday, yada yada yada. But what I love most about Canada is that, whenever I am there, I can spend time with my huge, crazy, fabulous extended family! I was up north for a few days around the beginning of July, and the following poems were the result of those crazy 72 hours. Enjoy them, eh?

We consider ourselves too cool for airplanes, so I had a lot of driving time to work on this one on the way up!

The Physics of Us

We are electric and

we are electrons

racing along the lines of our infrastructure;

two sides of a wildflower median.

We barrel through

resistors and capacitors alike

toward our destination;

arrive with a spark

of energy

to fuel our antics,

often shorting a fuse

into a burst of burning memories

and love.

(c) 2012 Marie KR

Because the cottage we inhabit is directly on the banks of the St. Lawrence, we swim a lot while we’re there, and considering that the water is flowing South from the Arctic, it’s just a tad bit chilly. Nothing we Canucks can’t handle, though. Being descendants of polar bears has its perks!


I have learned

that there are several stages of cold.

1: The first frigid shock

travels up your body—

toes to head—

a bitter surprise which

wedges icy fingers

between bones and flesh,

drawing your breath out

in a rush of white bubbles

before you reach

in what you hope is the right direction

and break the surface with a gasp

and a toss of your head.

2: The even motion of your body

strives for some sort of friction

against the river,

and a blessed numbness

seeps into your pores

and allows you to feel


conscious of nothing but

the smooth darkness of the water

and how fast the current is carrying you


3: Just when you’ve been lulled

by lack of feeling,

a chill creeps up your spine

and reaches for the wind

from the crown of your head;

it invites the breeze

to pull frozen hands

across your neck

and between the bones of your jaw,

making you shiver

to the rhythm of your

clattering bones

which shake so much

it is near impossible

to pull yourself onto warm shore.

(c) 2012 Marie KR

We don’t swim all the time, though–we also have a boat!

St. Lawrence Nights

That dusk we took the boat out

to air-dry ourselves

in the glow of the full moon,

I carried the wind home

in my hair;

I slept with the scent of the night

in my curls;


and belatedly regretted my morning shower.

(c) 2012 Marie KR

…and a jet-ski…

Hold On

I have rarely felt as alive

as the few minutes

when it was just you and I

and the sunset,

racing down a stretch of black empty water

so fast we clung together

for fear of losing our grip



like sparks which rise from a campfire

before the darkness swallows them up.

62 miles per hour,

not a single breath taken.

(c) 2012 Marie KR

Oof, poetry overload! I’m going to take a nap. Catch ya later, y’hosers!