The Debt
By Andreae Callanan
I have said no to unlit city streets, I have said
no to highways splitting parkland, no
to cuts that make one person do the work
of three. I have said no to shutting schools
and clinics, no to warplanes tracing
ancient paths of caribou, to sea-bed
bombs that box the ears of whales. I have said
no to filth in rivers.
And, too, I have said yes, I live at this address,
yes, you’ve spelled my name correctly
on the card, that’s it, that’s me, yes. Yes
in cabbage-scented parish halls, church
basements, yes in gymnasiums
and auditoriums, yes in libraries, yes
under cold tube lights, over carpeted floors.
We are all debtors here, beholden
to this jagged place for every lungful
of spruce-laced salted air, each slap
of ocean blasting rock and boat, dock
and ankle. Each berry-bucket filled
begs something in return. I pay
my dues with words: a no to harm, a yes
to harder work. I pay my dues in placards,
ballots, chants, in reckoning.
About the Author
Andreae Callanan (English, Memorial University of Newfoundland) is a poet and essayist from St. John’s. Her work has appeared in The Walrus and on CBC Radio, and in numerous journals, including Riddle Fence, The New Quarterly, and CV2. She is currently pursuing her master’s degree in English literature at Memorial University. This article is an excerpt from “The Democracy Cookbook: Recipes to Renew Governance in Newfoundland and Labrador” (ISER Books, 2017).