Gabriel’s Last Mil­i­tary Ma­noeu­vre


Room Magazine - - NAGRA -

Nights are still cool

But day by day the land is green­ing. Song­birds have re­turned, some­how strange they still sing. I am trav­el­ling south, mostly un­der the stars. I will ar­rive in Mon­tana by to­mor­row. I have made all my farewells. Riel, in the glade, one last con­ver­sa­tion. Leav­ing Madeleine be­hind with our daugh­ter: will I see them again? My brother, neph­ews, sol­diers: we are all wanted men. On the hori­zon, the blu­ing of the Cy­press Hills. Be­neath my horse’s hooves, home­land. Maybe for the last time. In other years, it would be time to start plough­ing. This spring, not the crop we’d thought to plant: bod­ies of our men, seeded with bul­lets.

Ev­ery night my last thought as I of­fer tobacco to the Great Mys­tery: I am a Gen­eral with­out an army

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