Ruins Walk, Louisbourg

A poem


We share an apple on the point.

I carve Swiss Army slices while

angry waves gnaw the shore.


Wedges pinched between thumb

and blade. She munches idly,

toeing spiders in the sand.


The breeze holds all the rage of the

Atlantic. Traces of gunpowder

flare my history-tickled nostrils.


Beside us children in period dress

chase geese. Above is a sky


that has forgotten how to laugh.