Shediac Sirens Poem by Francie Lynch

In Shediac
The sidewalk threads up Main,
Past Church and hospital
To a yellow-frame,
Where wishes and the real world meet
Near Leger Street.
Here,
Quiet evening stairs leave cares,
And blueberries, Dahlias and Parley's foam,
Like sirens call our thoughts to home.
A quilt-work of faces,
Some young, some grown,
Looked through windows to a time unknown,
Past the ledger of Grand-mere,
Past Hector's chair.

Though
Emilie was consumed with cooking,
Quilting, cleaning and sometimes singing;
She fed the dreams of her dearborn,
And sheltered concerns of a heart well-worn,
Like a wrap around porch in a Northumberland storm,
On Main Street.

These
Porch steps led to worldly affairs,
Finance, healthcare, CN, shopwares.
Each step, each child, bore Emilie's breath,
Et dans l'eglise St. Joseph.

But
Bricks are brittle and paint will wane,
A picture or poem will fade and stain,
Yet sirens still call out your name
In Shediac.