Laurentian divide from Ferals Welcome by Sean Keel

Canadian border. Manitoba. First the tar, then the dirt road ends. No camera. No Mounties.  Pen on a string  I wrote Barny Rubble. She wrote Pat Nixon. 35 pounds in the frame pack. A half empty bottle of gin. She carried the pack. Sent me back for the bottler. Never know when you might need some string.


I was scared our map was the wrong map. 

Worried about the meat that we had 

She was a tiny bit taller. A tiny bit smarter. Being  shorter was kind of a drag.

I was scared about bears for good reason. Scared  I wouldn’t know how to get laid.

Pleased and surprised to be with her. Heavy wood fall that winter

Tree trunk splinters. All over the place.


Dropped the pack crossing over the Laurentian divide.

She grabbed me or I would have fell in. Her whole fucking family could wrestle.

Back of my neck touched her skin. Tore up deer  hide on the side of the Laurentian divide 

She had the smell of where horses have been.


Back then everything happened with purpose

I wondered what everything meant 

We made camp on our side of the Laurentian divide

I brought the wrong poles for the tent.

First campfire I made was a smoky mistake

First moonlight I saw was her breast

I’m wrong every time I look forward. I was right the kielbasa was bad 


I went and watched her get married

watched her marry a much taller man

pleased and surprised, when she asked me dance 

Its nice that things fade. Its nice that things hang.

It was nice. Smelling horses again

• Folk
• austin
• indie fok
• lyrical
• roots
• Austin