An ice cutter scored and sliced trapezoid chunks of opal, their milky sides striped like
frozen cream. The seaway’s power held them in a swelling coddle while above
this soup of gemstones Château Frontenac loomed. Glass lobby cases suspended laser beams—
pink, green, and blue framed photos of Princess Grace of Monaco at Montreal’s
Expo 67 when she wore a Marie-Thérèse of Nice black dress with embroidered flowers.
Seen too arriving in Québec City, one carnaval d’hiver in her Balenciaga velvet cloche
with green Chanel coat, later donning a Marie-Antoinette gown at the formal bal.
A reproduction of the girl on the swing painting by Fragonard graced the cliff lift
tunnel, built at a time in decorative history that boasted its decadence and mocked
rationality in this colonized place. All night the ice cutter and a wandering ship
dispersed local terrazzo marble like bachelors at a stag. In the labour, tugboat beams
projected—obese tulips of spring like portraits in courage. This widening mouth
of water will diminish its crescendo, the axe against our frozen sea. One day
earth will apologize and signal gratitude, smiling with its pretty teeth.