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poetry

Welcoming Winter with John Thompson’s At the Edge of the Chopping there are no Secrets

By Emily Skov-Nielson

There’s really no point in holding a grudge against winter since, let’s face it, it’s the prevailing season here in New Brunswick. So the next time the snow flies, resist the urge to curse and clench your jaw — sit back, pour yourself a glass of something dark and spirituous, and immerse yourself in Thompson’s magnetizing winter world: “this place suddenly yours.”

Silence

You ask me what kind of silence the moon makes

OVNI

-- -- a plank of light

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