Published May 15th, 2025
by Felicia Zuniga
We spill onto the highway, desperate to quit the city, soak up still and silent spaces.
Everything and everyone evaporates behind us, until we stop at a speck of a town.
Their Bomber Command Museum tells tales of very different lives, budding boys who buttoned
into air force blue to become pilots, and the war they were tossed into.
The Lancaster Bomber is the highlight, dark and stoic as a storm. The boys steered by the stars
and dead reckoning, only a compass, airspeed, and wind direction to carve a path.
Night after night, buckling on chutes and climbing into the sky with a prayer on their lips
to splatter bombs on the Germans. Hot coffee and rum for the worn-out few who returned.
Bomber Command fed over 10,400 Canadians to the earth – names now etched in white
on the memorial wall, like broken bones. Per ardua ad astra – Through adversity to the stars.
In Sentimental Journeys, every surface drips floral teacups, rusty license plates, ruby brooches,
tobacco tins. We touch the objects, wondering whose long-ago prairie lives they performed in.
I inhale the paper of forgotten books. To The Lighthouse. Girl of the People. The Earthen Lot.
Who whispered these words? Who watched their time tick tock away on that clock?
The past makes you hungry. We fill up at the candy store choosing caramels and chocolate.
The shelves explode with colour, and the memory of the whole world displayed before you.
Everyone saying ooh and ahh, remember this one? When they find their favourite treat and are swept
back to being a kid with a pocketful of coins and a mouthful of sugar and magic.
Snow starts to blow, so we leave, driving past grain elevators, the skyscrapers of the prairies.
Standing proud in weathered orange and grey uniforms, guarding their golden wheat fields.
A perfect photo for Instagram. But no, today is a break from all that. My phone is locked away.
No rings, dings, alerts, or anxiety.
The place is small, yet we are free to climb inside someone else's stories and forget our own
for a moment. Slip off our noisy present and try on an all-too-distant past.
About the Artist
Felicia Zuniga resides in Calgary, Alberta, Canada.
Read the poet's biography on Felicia Zuniga's Artist Page.
This poem is included in Comet #5,
published in the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
Previously published in Canada Poetry Magazine:
Clare-ity
by Nicole Moen
Canada Poetry Magazine is part of the Wax Poetry and Art Network.
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