Mother I wrote you a poem For Mother's Day, 2006. I made things up for you I thought you'd like to hear them. Gentle Kind I called you. Printed out in purple Your favourite colour. Tape to bind to construction paper A glue stick would be lumpy. I took a stamp from your scrapbook kit … Continue reading Parents
Tag: poetry
Dark chocolate and gin
Remember way back when, the time when I wouldn’t have existed, but if I had it would have been somewhere dark Sounds like jazz running down the bar, so deeply soaked into the stained wood that it is the varnish of improv I hear in my sleep. A darkness that tastes like a cherry nestled … Continue reading Dark chocolate and gin
Hunger
I fall asleep, stomach growling And it reassures me Like any periodic laceration A penance A comfort Reassurance that forgiveness may be mine. This strange thing in my guts That chews hungrily Eat up! I say. Enjoy. Take a nibble at my hips While you’re there But please, leave my mind Intact. Silly thing misheard … Continue reading Hunger
Olives
When people ask me what I miss most about you-- (They don't, but in my head they do) I say I miss the olives. The nonexistent theys smile, puzzled And I have an audience for my story now. I tell them about a cocktail bar where I sat in a black dress and high heels … Continue reading Olives
Leaves
The leaves are hanging themselves on flimsy branches that sometimes break. When they strike the ground it is gentle. No dramatic crash or thunder. Nearly silent, a softening. Eyelids, or the sound of footsteps walking away. Your body knows that sound I think. When I say that the leaves are hanging themselves, do not think … Continue reading Leaves
Before You Go
Promise me that before you go you'll make a sandwich. Any kind you like. Put on your favourite tv show or movie, characters you know and love. Before you go, wrap yourself in a warm blanket, one that smells like summer sun and grass. Place one hand on your cheek, Where mine would be if … Continue reading Before You Go
Wool Gathering
Please excuse me not looking you in the eye. I’m off somewhere over your left shoulder, gathering my thoughts and the melting snow is flying off a tree branch with all the spirit of a spring river. Wool gathering, my gran might say in a tone that once would have stung and now simply makes … Continue reading Wool Gathering
I know why the women sing.
I know why the women sing as they pace the cliffs, the roadside, this hallway. I know what it is to stand as the emptiness grows thicker all around you. You wonder, is it so empty now because he took too much space then? And you bent and shrank and stretched for him until now … Continue reading I know why the women sing.
Ill fitting
I wrap myself in words like newspaper. Stuffed under a threadbare coat for warmth and comfort through the night and sometimes just to run my fingers across and remember. But you only every gave me phrases a sentence here and there. A scarf too thin to block the wind, a whole in my gloves and … Continue reading Ill fitting
Sunday Awoke
The days of the week march by in capitals. As though each is its own being, named, dropping in for a visit once in seven. Each day has a favourite colour of course, and its own friendship with the moon. At times, when restlessness or need keeps us up to the wee hours, we see … Continue reading Sunday Awoke
Gosh Darn Sunlight 