by Myriam Legault-Beauregard
Starlings and swans
feather nebulous rains,
the moon was in a
phase with holes
filled with question
marks.
What if mountains
were in fact volcanoes?
Wouldn’t birds and stars
light up
the untimely rain-fevers
of warm morning-afters,
where the shattered ceiling
drops in the sky?
Scribbling is all that’s left.
Not strong enough.
***
[Myriam Legault-Beauregard works as an English-to-French translator in the Ottawa-Gatineau region. At night, when her toddler is asleep, she pursues her literary dreams. Her translations can be found in K1N, Reunion: The Dallas Review and ellipse, and she recently became a full member of the Literary Translators’ Association of Canada. She completed her master’s degree in language studies in 2019 at the Université du Québec en Outaouais, with a focus on poetry translation.]
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