Canadian Man

Met an man
of Canadian nature
bent knees
bent back
the split palms of labour
he called himself Chris
the machinist
he held up those hands
singing psalms of praise
to a Northern life
lines like river valleys
dissecting mountains
pouring down
converging at the wrist
and rooted there

"here, you see"
and he pointed
finger to flesh
"ignoring the rest
the widest crease is here"
beneath
the tendons worked their way
and the digits swayed
branches
counting
falling and rising
"Belgium, Hungary, Iran, Syria, Lebanon, India, Latvia, China, Estonia, Finland..."
and on and on he went
fingers bent or straight
and still the tendons slid
and bulged
and dipped below the thickness
of the wrist
strings bouncing
humming:
East coast Gaelic shanties
West coast hard-core ballads
Yukon caribou wails
and all
under winters' white wash
muffled static
always there to hum
in a moment of silence
always there