NaPoWriMo - day twenty three

 once i had several lovers.     i had several lovers once.
     when one was at work      i thought that truth
   i would be with another.     would prevent a wound.
      i first wrote “wound”.      by truth i meant "truth".
     when one was at work      the truth is we wound
   i would wound another.      without a thought.

i had several lovers once.      once i  had several lovers.
          i thought that truth       when one was at work
  would prevent a wound.      i would be with another
  by truth i meant “truth”.      i first wrote "wound".
     the truth is we wound      when one was at work
           without a thought.      i would wound another.

#NaPoWriMo - day twenty two

30% of people think reading regularly makes them better than others.
30% of people can flare their nostrils.
30% of people have two jobs.
30% of people don’t use bar soap.
30% of people will love you.
30% of people think most people can be trusted.
30% of people eat candy nearly every day.
30% of people believe they will live to a hundred.
30% of people have experienced some form of abuse.
30% of people lie about how much they give to charities.
30% of people are highly sensitive.
30% of people are overweight.
30% of people have snooped through someone’s desk.
30% of people are nervous to go out alone.
30% of people will decline to attend a wedding.
30% of people have dated a roommate.
30% of people will hate you.
30% of people have never been to a drive-in theatre.
30% of people will be replaced by AI.
30% of people have never built a snowman.
30% of people do not want to have children.
30% of people distrust science.
30% of people say they don’t know how to make friends.
30% of people leave something behind on vacation.
30% of people admit to running a red light.
30% of people don’t know how to drive.
30% of people don’t believe in God.
30% of people say they have never felt more alone.
30% of people think they’re great at small talk.
30% of people won’t cut and paste this.

#NaPoWriMo - day twenty one

I miss Prince.
I never saw him play live,
though friends and family have.
I admit to no small amount of jealousy.
I missed him here in Edmonton.
I would have loved
to see him play: Purple Rain, of course,
Controversy, The Cross, Kiss,
The Ballad of Dorothy Parker,
Starfish and Coffee…
but I really would have loved
to play basketball with him.
Something more personal,
intimate, human than a concert.
Pick and roll, fast break,
orchestrate. Defend, attack.
Set a screen. High five.
With or without heels.
 
And then pancakes.
Lots of pancakes.

#NaPoWriMo - day twenty

Dear Ms. Smith. Miss Smith? Mrs. Smith?
I only know you as poet, Patricia.
I’m reading The Intentions of Thunder
and I’m pummelled. Pummelled.
 
I’m drawn in by the language while
also distanced from it. I discover
how white I am. And Canadian.
I’m trying to hear the chorus.
 
How can a poem be so deeply rooted.
How does the voice move around
from body to body. Poetic forms
structure the narrative. Declare:
 
How poetry is always a witness.
What are we looking for. What
are you looking at. Are you looking.
How can you bear it. How long.

#NaPoWriMo - day nineteen

And has the weather finally turned?
At what point do we pull out
the spring jackets and summer shoes?
When do we pack up winter coats,
heavy boots, mittens and scarves?
 
I do not trust the vicissitudes
of wind and sun and cloud
any more than I trust fashion.
 
I can dress in layers but
there is always too much too wear,
and what changes if you drive your car
or take public transit or ride your bike?
Then how big a bag, backpack or satchel?
 
The morning is bright and sunny
(though chilly), the afternoon windy,
and the evening humid and warm.
 
“For everything there is a season”
and I’m done trying to reason it out.
Everything keeps changing –
wait five minutes they say –
but I’ve been waiting for years.

#NaPoWriMo - day eighteen

They came mostly from the rift lakes:
Malawi, Tanganyika, Victoria: Angels,
Compressiceps, Peacocks, Frontosa, Oscars.
 
In the afternoons, after Drama classes,
we’d get high and sit in the basement
watching them, feeding them, breeding.
 
O, the drama! Each fish establishing
its territory, invisible borders shifting;
colours flaring or dimming, depending.
 
They were so beautiful. And every day
after Drama class we’d get high
and sit in the basement watching them.
 
Encased by three walls of aquaria,
each requiring constant cleaning, monitoring,
exchanging water. Separating fish.
 
Each time I left the basement –
(and emerged sleepily into the light)
I’d wonder where the time went.
 
But it was time well spent,
that time with friends, getting high
on beauty, all that watching, all that drama. 

#NaPoWriMo - day seventeen

The passenger pigeon had the most spectacular demise, plummeting from a population of billions to a population of zero in less than 100 years. Passenger pigeons used to flock by the billions. The passenger pigeon was the most common bird in North America.  Passenger pigeons traversed the continent in enormous flocks that literally blocked out the sun and stretched for dozens (or even hundreds) of miles.

Nearly everyone in North America ate passenger pigeons. Passenger pigeons were a crucial source of food for inland colonists who might have starved to death otherwise.

Passenger pigeons were hunted with the aid of 'stool pigeons'. 

Passenger pigeons were shipped East in railroad cars by the ton.

Passenger pigeons were shot by the tens of millions. Passenger pigeon flocks and nesting grounds were so dense that even an incompetent hunter could kill dozens of birds with a single shotgun blast.

Passenger pigeons laid only one egg at a time in closely packed nests atop the dense forests of the northern United States and Canada. Passenger pigeon breeding grounds were referred to as "cities."

Passenger pigeons nourished their newborn hatchlings with crop milk, a cheese-like secretion that oozes out of the gullets of both parents.  Passenger pigeons fed their young with crop milk for three or four days. Passenger pigeons abandoned the hatchlings a week or so later, at which point the newborn birds had to figure out how to leave the nest and scavenge for their own food.

Deforestation deprived passenger pigeons of their accustomed nesting grounds, and when these birds ate the crops planted on cleared land, they were often mowed down by angry farmers.

People tried to save the passenger pigeon before it went extinct. People thought "the passenger pigeon needs no protection. Wonderfully prolific, having the vast forests of the North as its breeding grounds, traveling hundreds of miles in search of food, it is here today and elsewhere tomorrow, and no ordinary destruction can lessen them."

There was nothing anyone could do to save the passenger pigeon. The last reliable sighting of a wild passenger pigeon was in 1900, in Ohio. The last passenger pigeon in captivity – Martha – died on September 1, 1914.

It may be possible to resurrect the passenger pigeon.

No one has taken on this challenging task.

#NaPoWriMo - day sixteen

someone is always listening
it’s always raining somewhere
 
every meal we ever shared
ended with us in bed or in tears
 
you always warned me
my sins would find me out
 
i never thought they were sins
i only wanted a place to call home
 
which is always a cliché
and always the truth
 
i’ve forgotten
every conversation we ever had
 
or rather, i don’t remember
every word we exchanged
 
i wasn’t always listening
and always filled with longing

#NaPoWriMo - day fifteen

i’m tired of winter / winter wonderlands / the dead of winter / winter blues / the winter of our discontent / the thin ice / snowball effects / the pure and driven snow / breaking the ice / tips of icebergs / being out in the cold / winter solstice / nuclear / or otherwise

#NaPoWriMo - day fourteen

today i saw a ghost bird
the flock’s murmuration
a wedge in the air
shadows echoing
flight path and dance
 
i could not stop to mark its path
headed as i was in the other direction
 
i hoped to see it again upon my return
but the sky was empty
the fields covered with snow
it began to rain
and the birds waited in the trees
 
in the silence
ghosts are everywhere
nighttime or daylight

#NaPoWriMo - day thirteen

I chose for myself
this course of action.
I have no other
to blame.
 
All this time I have
remained hidden.
I feel no need
to prove my existence.
 
Do you remember my face?
Do you remember my name?
 
You will not find me
in the public square.
You won’t notice me
at the corner table.
 
Who will tell the stories?
Who will sing the songs?
 
I have written everything down
and hidden the letter.
It will be my only confession.
You may never read it.
 
Someone is always watching.
Don’t tell me what you’ve seen.
Don’t tell me what you’ve heard.
Just tell me my name.

#NaPoWriMo - day twelve

We moved from home to home.
We met in living rooms and kitchens
and bedrooms. We shared
meals and drinks and spoke
of life to each other.
We celebrated and danced.
We gathered around the words
and parsed out the meaning.
We asked the difficult questions
and left room for difficult answers.
We did that for years.

But we moved to new cities, new jobs.
Made new friends. Stopped writing
perhaps, beds shared with new bodies,
tables covered with new dishes,
new promises made. I hope
each of you still finds reasons
to celebrate, reasons to dance.
Maybe sometimes you remember us
sitting together on the floor.
Listening to poems, songs, stories.
Quietly drinking tea, lightly
nibbling on finger food and dainties.

I still carry those moments with me.
They still feel like home.

#NaPoWriMo – day eleven

the stories were
contradictory
 
there were many
witnesses
 
rumours of war and
rumours of war
 
so many theories
to discuss
 
so many ways to frame
the days’ events
 
we were told to
write it down
 
we were told
never to tell
 
the news is
up next
 
this just in-
terruption
 
please stay
tuned

#NaPoWriMo – day ten

It was supposed to be a conversation
but all they did was talk. In the midst
of all that talking I stopped listening.
 
What happens when you stop listening?
 
What happens when you run out of patience?
 
What happens when there’s no conversation
to be had? The questions die on the page.
The air is filled with static. So we wait.
 
We wait for a moment to insert ourselves
into the story. We wait for a moment and
take time to listen and breathe and look
for answers. There are only questions,
and the questions hang in the air.
Like dust. Like fear. Like expectations.
 
What happens when you have only questions?
 
You try to make your way through the fog.
You make room at the table for conversation.
You try to find your way to the right words.

#NaPoWriMo – day nine

i brought you roses
but you did not like roses.
none. red, yellow, white…
 
i brought you lilies
but you did not like lilies.
too perfumey. like they’re hiding something.
 
i brought you orchids
but you did not like orchids.
so predatory (though beautiful).
 
i brought you tulips
but you did not like tulips.
always twisting towards the light.
 
i brought you birds of paradise
but you did not like birds of paradise.
it looks like a murder weapon.
 
i brought you chrysanthemums
but you did not like chrysanthemums.
too arty. paint one instead.
 
i brought you my hands.
you opened them like flowers
and left them. emptied.

 

#NaPoWriMo – day eight

that day you forgot

the most important thing

that day you forgot

a very important thing

that day you forgot

an important thing

that day you forgot

a somewhat important thing

that day you forgot

something important

that day you forgot

something somewhat important

that day you forgot

whether it was important

that day you forgot

what things were important

that day you forgot

why that thing was important

that day you forgot

the most important thing

that day you forgot

#NaPoWriMo – day seven

Tell me how you thought this would go.
We keep sitting down to make plans.
 
              can you create a song list, please?
 
The weather remains variable.
Spring still hasn’t arrived—it is a rumour only.
 
              i remember when it showed in august
 
There are so many things need repairing;
Somehow there’s always something missing.
 
              mockingbird, diamond ring, looking glass
 
There’s always one more thing.
Somehow there’s always more room.
 
              just add it to the list
 
We take so many trips to the mountains,
But the reasons are constantly different.
 
              you never climb the same mountain twice
 
I just keep putting one foot in front of the other.
We will get there eventually, then rest.

#NaPoWriMo – day six

in the morning,
silence. and in the mourning,
silence. and then all the words
and what words
cannot say replaced
by touch. or maybe a meal.
or a drink with a friend.
 
and then how to be lonely,
or sad. or how to be,
or keep moving, working,
saying good morning, or
thank you. and it’s okay
to laugh again, or enjoy
another’s company.
 
we keep saying
we almost lost you and
we did almost lose you
but maybe we also found each other
in the speaking of loss
sitting next to each other,
skin frail and paper-thin.
 
we keep saying just get better
and “better” is a relative term
so we sit here together
in silence. we take turns
talking of the possibilities of loss
how it is a shadow in the room;
in every room, now.

#NaPoWriMo – day five

I wanted to write an “Easter poem.”
Something about resurrection.
 
I too often feel like a white-washed tomb.
Chiefest of sinners, me.
 
I too have found myself walking in a garden;
A single destination in mind.
 
I too have sat in stunned silence,
Shrouded in wonder, bathed in light.
 
I too have found myself in need of new words,
Another way speaking/ moving through the world.
 
I have had days of new beginnings
Emerging from the river with singing.
 
Fill my cup once more.
Remind me there is a thirst to slake.
 
Remind me that stones are worn away.
Remind of that each beautiful day.

#NaPoWriMo – day three

open the gates!

there is talk of processions

misplaced acclaim

what must be torn down

what must be built

*

all day i’ve been cleaning

house, yard, expectations

look at my hands

*

the path is never the same twice

nor the river

nor the trees

*

i will never trust you again

without exercising faith

there is talk of confessions

the power of names

*

the table is ready

everything just so

let’s keep things simple

talk of commandments

not of suffering

*

you should probably rest,

now