Hello followers, lurkers, those curious about my curious slant on life and death. I have a request: while I am retreating here in Montreal, in the lovely Mile End neighbourhood and beside a nunnery, I am finally completing a first poetry manuscript. I’d like to feel less alone by sharing a poem a day with you. That will be seven poems. Back home in Toronto, my sweet Heather prepares to create a splendid chapbook…thanks for retreating here with me and here is your Thursday poem.
intellect is a crippled thing
useless at disguises
roll back the sleeves to battle
wicked slice through consciousness
she recoils, always these reminders of war
crash down drive deep remove
what bits remain alive.
A figure emerges softly drawn
her breath on the looking-glass.
Calm eerily trembles as she
holds somber and steady a wave
motions further into life
her child races the wind whirls
past sharp dangers gathered
toward arms learning to love.