Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry

For three days the weather refused to co-operate
veiling the mountain in grey density
it could have been sympathy
or spite
sullen
terrain had gone one up
in their competition for intruders.
The helicopter took a rain check
returning to its city home
waiting to be called from the bench
back to the arena and starring role.

We knew it was a woman
referred to as “she” or “her”
the others in the party
interviewed by visiting policemen – the town too small to have its own.
Did they remain in the village on vigil
until she was brought back down to earth?
Or get the hell out of this place
where hell had come to them.

Muffled. Softened. Hushed.
everything
until the helicopter returns
with requiem chatter.
Tarpaulin wrapped stilled life
rotor wake spun
in one last dance.

It was easy
before she had a name
“ 28-year-old female climber ”
anonymity a space station airlock
separating two worlds : living and dead.
Juliet
it was so much more tragic.

Imagination could have pretended it was Switzerland
snow as homogenizer
pancake makeup covers informer landscape.
Two polar hemispheres
days illuminated by the same sun
night birthmarked by different stars
postcard windows frame to scale Matterhorn.

Climbers midgeted by distance
thread slowly up toward the summit.
Two ski instructors rest between classes
chess tones essential patience
“check,” says one
a pause
“ actually it’s checkmate,” says the loser.

Rumour whispers through dusk
the helicopter shouts confirmation at sunrise
a slip and fall.
Blonde and handsome
dashing in the uniform of alpine rescue
he steps out of the helicopter
walks to the park ranger
and shakes his head.
Checkmate.

It was the venue where women
debuted their second best outfits
not the clothes worn at weddings
or the formal balls declining in number and importance
but not yet extinct.
Sunday mass.
Hats, gloves, unladdered stockings and expensive new outfits.
Thou shalt not covet.

By Beatitudes the meek shall inherit the earth
possibly compensation
in the 1960’s provincial city they were owed.
Status quotient
white plus wife plus wealth minus questioning
equalled ideal.- hierarchal peak
except for priests.

In a single channelled five hour per day television country
religion filled space between sport and work.
Priests, conducting services deciphering scripture
partly explanation partly myth enhancement
On Sundays as the congregation emptied into the vestry
many of the faithful contrived opportunity
to be seen engaging conversation
or issue invitation.

A priest for a dinner guest
that was a boast to neighbours before and after.
To be arranged with the parish head
a cleric who had held the title a good many years
a wily old sheepdog
who knew proximity diminished exclusivity
inaccessibility maintained prestige.
Most were declined.

Perhaps it was saturation television or travel
at some point in the 1970s
the aura dissolved .
Nowadays they skip between services
open shirted
casual trousered.
The priest as celebrity
like the Kennedy’s,
The Beatles,
Martin Luther King
did not survive the 1960’s.