Gananoque Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Gananoque

Imagine going east on highway Four-O-One where all names are English
Occasions in French; or added, as is Ville.

Suddenly comes a shock with the name Gananoque.

You wonder and divert and enter, encounter a bridge as an arch of metal bearing name
Gananoque

You follow the asphalt with the curves, see houses, neighbourhood is unique.
Gananoque

You are sure the place must be for First Nations, a “Reserve”, but no sign appears to approve.
Gananoque

You feel like a snake in the sun of desert, hit the bush, sand or rock to get rid of skin
It is just wasting time in a town, Gananoque.

On fire, you stop at a house where the man is in perch wearing boots; he smiles; he is kind
But nothing to be shared except name, Gananoque.

Not your way to stop before end. Researches indicate roots are burned to ashes; what exists
Is the dead and buried, confused are meanings; just guesses and dreams:

Hunters go; the deer; of water rises meadow, or the rocks in current, “Rendezvous”.

But one thing, the Pirates’ Festival makes you think: “Who lived and who attacked? ”