Air Show

The sky growls like thunder
and then they appear,
rappelling on their threads
of power — jets tripping
though the air.

I remember my mother’s
stories, the walk from home
to somewhere, how she
shuddered when a crow
took flight, when bullets
flew from a strafing plane

and the man beside her died,
as she cowered in a gutter.
My grandfather lost his horse
to another round of bullets —
a toast in the pub of power,
a toast to the power of force.

The jets strafe our house
and hover, for a moment before
diving to the airport, five men
who entertain through a Canadian
summer, far from the drums of war.

I remember my mother’s anger,
I remember my mother’s fear,
I remember my mother’s words
as she talked about those years.

The sky growls like thunder,
I look into the sky and see
the snowbirds flying through
the vision in my mother’s fear.