SENTINEL
One hundred years standing
resplendent, vigilant
worn down by time
but taken up again
higher by honest, honoured hands
surveyor of Barnett’s choice
the merchant gateway
to civilization and taming the prairie.
The structure dug into the land,
land that held tracks of a holy Father, man of good heart
wanderer to the wildest parts of the landscape,
uttering Cree, black robed, undaunted apostolic claiming his territory,
bringing them altogether, a power for peace which bullet or blizzard
could not break.
Sitting on the block of land, carved by the rails
letting the rumble of iron hooves, throb steely veins into it
lock memories in stone, rock it to sleep at night
as men and cargo lumbered through the corridor
north to south, south to north, with many stopping
to stare at it’s flat iron face.
Many times Jack stood on the stone steps
watching his wife repeatedly acting out the open arms
welcome scene to a variety of strangers
who tumbled from boxcars, burdened with baggage
and fresh new dreams, under the gaze of this lofty sentinel,
secure, trusted proclaiming prosperity.
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