THE BELLS by Gregg Norman

Nicole Weiser

THE BELLS

Ushered onboard in the heart

Of a deep prairie winter

Almost as cold in the coach

As it is outside in the snow

The conductor gives me a blanket

The cars shuttle and shriek

Through frozen fallow fields

Distant farmyards seem dead

In a dead landscape

I can’t stop shivering.

I try to summon a boy’s courage

And a sense of adventure

I wonder how my parents felt

When they saw me off

Too cold to stand and wave

My white breath clouds

The window fogging over

My view of passing lands

I burn the ball of my hand

Rubbing a circle to see through

I am alone in the long coach

Winter passengers are rare

The train begins to slow

When it approaches the village

I pull my scarf tighter

A classic station house 

With a long platform 

Stands over a row of tiny houses

Squatting in the drifts

By a school and a false-front store

Stooped and hushed and cold

I take one burning breath

Before running inside

To huddle by a pot-belly stove

Radiating welcome warmth

Another hole rubbed

In another window shows

The faraway farm buildings

A dark distant wrinkle

On an endless blue horizon

Soon enough I see a speck

Growing over the snow

As horse and cutter come on

When I can see the steam

From the horse’s hairy nose

I hurry outside to pet him

Then I’m helped up 

By a leather-mittened hand

Greeted with a thin-lipped grin

Above a frosted grizzled chin

I snuggle under a horsehide robe

Backed with heavy flannel

My feet dangle over hot bricks

My grandfather clucks to his beast

And we’re off to the jingle of bells

© Gregg Norman

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Gregg Norman

Gregg Norman lives and writes in a lakeside cottage in Manitoba, Canada, with his wife and a small dog who runs the joint. His poetry has been placed in journals and literary magazines in Canada, the USA, the UK, Australia, Europe, and India. He is a 2024 Best of the Net nominee.

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